Imani Wisdom's brainchild -- Pink Noire Publications -- has been known for her unpredictable style of storytelling. Now its founder is expanding the "pink and black" brand to shine on prolific artists. From the inspirationalist, Danica Worthy to bestselling author, Stacy Deanne, Pink Noire understand these talented individuals know how to express their craft through words, song, dance, and stroke of a brush.



There was a little boy wearing his angelic wings.
He was roaming in heaven until he noticed a somberly something.
It was a black man sitting on heaven's bench.
He had tears in eyes causing his face to drench.
The little boy noticed and asked as he wiped the man's eye,
"What's the matter?" And then the man sighed
And replied
"I don't know if my dream will ever come alive"
Then the boy frown and asked, "Why?"
The man look at the boy with his manicured moustache, and slowly
Wiped a tear on his eyelash
"Don't you see what went on earth since I died?
I thought my dream will blossom and thrive
Little black girls and boys and little white girls and boys had been learning
I know this had change the complexity of racial lines forever.
I also noticed that equality has progress in many aspects.
I have seen a rainbow people had learn to tolerate and respect.
I remember before '68,
There were barely any black faces that had won political races.
Now it's an overflow all over the  United States.
They are on Congress, and Senators
They are Mayors, and Governors,
There's a Secretary of State not only one but two".
Then he slightly chuckled and added, "Who ever knew?"
"More blacks are homeowners with an influx of revenues
And because of that, we were able to go to any college to expand what knew.

The little boy had continue to frown as he scratched his head
"These sounds like great things, so why are you crying?" he said.
The man glanced at the little boy with his bountiful cheeks.
He replied, "Son, my dream wasn't just black and white.
My dream was a rich and colorful sight
And it was beyond just civil but a human rights".
"Look" as he pointed below the clouds.
"Look at these people with a weakened disparages frowns.
It's the poor all over the world.
And famine and war that deeply affects little boys and girls.
This beyond the  USA.
This is happening all over world everyday.
And in Africa, the Motherland of Motherlands, it's indescribable.
Folks don't know it, but most Africans living conditions are incomparable.
And there are more wars and rumors of wars that threaten earth's rotating globe.
One voice has to stand out, but I don't think anybody knows
……how to establish their voices to be heard
I wish some activist would shy away from cameras and truly put people first.
As the boy intently listen he asked, "But isn't black folks are better off than a long ago".
The man answered, "Oh yes, but they say more things change, the more that stay the same.
We had to overcome through treacherous mountaintops and through the rugged plains.
The black man on earth still gets has it hard that one virtually still remains.
But although there's still that long dream road
I wish someone would voice this because this needs to be told.
We had past that mountaintop, but there are heavy terrains on the way.
Our people need to realize this today.
We can be detrimental to ourselves.
And my people need to pray".
Suddenly the man went silent, there was not another word to say.

Then the black man had got up from heaven's bench still blue.
Then the angelic boy ask, "Mr, who are you?"
The black man had finally cracked an infectious smile.
The boy again said, "Mr, why don't stay awhile?"
The man answered, "Son, I got go, I have already seen what I need to see.
And there's a long way to go, and seeing it is too much for me.
The boy then grabs the man hand and asked, "Can you tell me your name, please?"
The man looked down at the boys eyes, and said, "Son, I'm King, Martin Luther King"

© Imani Wisdom, 2006
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I lay helpless, piercing my eyes to the basement ceiling wondering how I allow myself to get here to this point.  The nighttime remains in a cool stillness through a small window. Among his heavy breathing are background inaudible male voices. The darkness drapes their bodies.  Only a strong scent of cigarette smoke strangles my airwaves.  My mind says to leave, but my body is numb with fear.  After all, I’m the one insist on being a part of this party. 

Inside of my teenage mind, I thought I needed to be a part of a crowd.  You know, to be liked.  When I came to that party I lived on weed and alcohol.  Then the next I knew, I was in the basement lying numb and confused on a mattress.

The intention was to hang out with a male friend of whom I like a lot. His charm and good looks mesmerize a fast attraction.  Plus, he was one of the popular kids at school.  And it didn’t hurt he was one of the best players on the basketball team.

Though, the memories of that night of that stranger’s heavy breathing had left me nauseous.  This person was moving inside of me without an ounce of my enjoyment.  I turned my head back at the window, wondering how I could be so stupid by listening to my friend.  Staring through the glass at the long leafless branches on a nearby tree I asked myself, “Why me”. 

Then in the corner of my eye, someone struck a lighter of an orange-bluish flame.  My obscure vision saw the shadowy count.  It had to been at least four of them, and the fifth one was trapping me between his large body and the bed like he was the head conductor on their train. 

I had suddenly developed courage from every part of my body to scream the word “no”.  It didn’t stop him.  Actually, he breathlessly laughed as if the word no was dark humor.  The other pieces to his train, along with the caboose (my friend) chuckled as well. 

Needless to say the rest is history…

It’s another Imani’s “How to” Moment”, and rather a personal one.  At that time, I thought everything from the time I set foot inside of the head conductor’s house, to the last perverted satisfaction by the caboose; I thought all of it was my fault. 

I even said no. I mean, I said a loud resounding get-the-f**k-off-from-me-no.  Still in the end, I sat on the rough and lumpy mattress in tears.  That night changed me.  Forget being haunted by the constant reminders of drafty basements, alcoholic scents, and egotistical laughter. It was the smaller things from that night that had ingrained in my mind to this date. 

Among the other things from my past, I didn’t realize the gravity of that night until I got older; when relationships were difficult to keep; when I confused sex as a form of love; when I lived a destructive lifestyle; when food was my way out; when I couldn’t see past the darkness; when hope was a lost cause, when bitterness infused of who I was, and when my trust for men didn’t exist.

How did I overcome it?

Well, overcoming sexual abuse is powerful.  A person just cannot get over it, we have to move on.  The emotional scars will always be there, its learning how to cope with those scars is what matter. 

So my Imani’s “How to” Moment is gear toward the survivors (men or women) of all forms of abuse.  Hopefully, you sought counseling and you’re moving from the bondage.  Les not forget the ones who still lives with the open wounds of their abuse. Some chooses not to seek help at all.  Perhaps shame has got the best of them, especially men (and yes, there are more men who had their innocence shattered according to what the national statistics says.  It’s underreported due to shame and guilt).

We need to be the voice for the voiceless.  If you suspect a child is being abused, please contact your local authorities.  The cycle of self-destruction needs to stop.  Survivors of abuse tend to become abusers to others, or themselves with addictive personalities. I’m living witness to it. Food was my addiction.

As for the guys from that night, I don’t know where most of them are.  I could care less.  What I have done is to forgive them.  Yes, you read right—I’ve forgiving them.  It’s not for their benefit, but for mine. I had to move on. Otherwise, I’ll remain in their emotional bondage forever, and I don’t think we were meant to live in anyone’s bondage. Do you?

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I’m laying in the bed with a beacon of light shining down causing my morning vision to squint.  My body feels broken as if I've fallen from a three story building.  My eyes scan my surroundings and I’m seeing a beautiful painting I've done four years ago hanging across my bed, and a dozen of plush roses sitting on the dresser.  My heart begins to smile.          
I moved my eyes over some more, and notices a young lady feeling my wrist.  Her cold fingers are feeling through my bulgy veins.  “How are we doing” She says as looks to her watch.  I’m replying with the usual pleasantries, but I guess she can’t hear me.  It’s been that way for months.  She speaks and I answer, and yet she never responds.  Then she asks if I’m ready to start our routine?  I haven’t had the slightest clue as to what she means. But again, I politely answer and still no response.
While the woman goes to a nearby bathroom, a man walks into the room carrying a tray of food.  I think it’s my breakfast.  With skin of light onyx and small patches of graying hair, he sits the tray on a table and approaches my bedside.  He gently grabs my hand and lifts it to his mouth.  He kisses it ever so softly, almost as though as he’s afraid to hurt me.  As my hand remain nestle to his chin, I’m beginning to remember who this man is—my husband of sixteen years.
“Are we ready, Mrs. Davis” the woman suddenly asks.  Unfortunately, I can’t turn to see the woman’s face, just only her flora-scented perfume commands her presence. 
My husband looks to the woman, and then looks to me and gives me one of the serene most smiles. He carefully places my hand back on the bed.  “Is there any way you could continue her physical therapy on Thursday” He questions her, “I don’t think she’s up to it”.
The woman finally comes closer to my sight and stands on the side of the bed. She looks down to me with a nod.  “Of course, Mr. Davis” She smiles and continue, “Mrs. Davis, I’ll see you next time, okay?”
This time I didn't bother to answer since she never responds.  Instead, I blink my eye, and what do you know?  She answers.  “Good job! You remember our exercise” she cheerfully answers as if I’m a five year old reciting my ABC’s.
The woman finally ends her session and leaves.  Now it's just me and my husband alone.  “Baby, are ready to eat” He asks.  To make sure he answers, I blink again. “Good. I cooked your favorite: veggie omelet with veggie sausage, wheat toast, kiwis, and green tea". 
I’m happily wondering to myself, this is definitely my husband.  This man knows me inside and out. Despite everything that has happened in the last eight months, he’s been there through the thickest of the thick of it. 
Now, I remember why I wake helpless within the morning beacon, or why when I speak no one answers, or why that woman comes every Tuesdays and Thursdays, or why I feel I’m detach from my body, it’s because I nearly died from a massive stroke at thirty-eight years old.
And for the months I spent in the hospital, I saw my husband day in and day out.  He never left my side.  I guess owning a major record label, he could do that. 
Though at that time, I wanted to hate every living soul for being able to use their limbs, to eat without assistance, and to do simple tasks like freely go to the bathroom without reverting to infant stages of wearing adult diapers.  Yet my husband, knowing I couldn't express myself, saw into my quiet anger.  I vividly recalled how he caressed the top of my forehead, following by his endearing kiss.  “You can fight it” He said, “But I won’t go anywhere. We’re one.”  Then as he leaned over me, his tear fell from the crescent of his eye onto my cheek.  The warmness of it made my anger melted to an ocean of serenity.
This man has a heart like gold.  Just to think before my stroke, I wanted to divorce him.  The night when my life changed forever, I was in his den. We argued, but he pleaded for me not to leave.  Then I had said something that left a lasting memory before everything turned black.  I told him I didn't love him anymore.  The pain he conveyed glazed into tears, leaving a lasting image in my mind.  Then my light suddenly had turned into darkness. The next thing I knew he was standing over my bed in the Intensive Care Unit.   
I woke to his smile and he whispered close my ear, “I’m sorry baby, I was wrong. But please fight this”.
As my husband sits at my bedside at this moment, continuing to feed me, I realize if anyone whose wrong is me.  I went into our marriage for the intention of furthering my career as this famous singer. It’s not that I didn’t love him; I just didn’t love him the way he deserves. 
What he does for me now, it’s abundantly clear how much he loves me.  He combs my long and curly hair with gentlest of touch, carries me to my wheelchair to take me outside to my favorite place—my garden, and gives me a bath with my favorite scented oils.  Most of all, he does something most men wouldn’t do, he changes my adult diapers.  Even though it’s embarrassing each time he does it, my husband always repeats our marriage vows as a tear streams my face—for better for worse, for sickness and health.
While I’m looking into this man’s deep dark eyes, I understand what unconditional love really means.  He looks beyond the tawdriness of appearance. I haven’t had a manicure in eight months, weaveless, and I know I have a straggly hair or two on my chin.  I’m a hot mess.  Yet still, every morning he tells me how beautiful I am. 
“Okay baby, last bite. You've been eating pretty well this morning” he says. 
He catches my eye gazing to him and he stops.  I’m not feeling ill or anything; I just want to admire how the morning sun dances against his dark skin.  Standing within the light, he looks as if he’s my angel that's given me new life.  My erroneous acts of selfishness and greed may have led me into the confines of indefinite paralysis, but it has wakened me to reality.  I don’t need success to make me happy; it was there all of this time.
“Baby, are you alright” he asks with a concern in his voice.
My mouth opens as I’m forcing my face muscles to go along me.  The words from my heart have begun to flow to the tip of my tongue.  I’m forcing the word, I, and then next the word, love.  I can see the growing astonishment on my husband’s face.  I’m not sure if he understands me, so I’m taken another deep breath, and it pour from my lips—I love you.
I think he understands me because he nearly drops the tray of food, and then quickly puts it down. His average-sized frame climbs next to me in the bed and weeps. Feeling a loving reassurance inside of his arms, my tear joins his.  I’m repeating it over again, “I love you”.
It’s amazing at times how you can quickly get put into your place from unexpected circumstances. My body literally has to stand still to see what’s in front of me all of this time.  Money and power may be significant to some, but it's mundane when your world stops turning.  It’s meaningless. 
No one can explain why the worse of worse people gets brakes.  I consider myself in that category.  Now I have this opportunity to be a better woman.  Second chances don’t come often, and I have mine.   So I better not mess up this one up. 

© Imani Wisdom, 2011

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IMANI'S "HOW TO" MOMENT: Pursuing What's Yours!

"When you feel in your gut what you are and then dynamically pursue it - don't back down and don't give up - then you're going to mystify a lot of folks."
— Bob Dylan

Those are the immortal words of the great Bob Dylan.  As I recalled, he received scathing reviews on his vocals when he began his music career.  Did that stop him?  Obviously it had not. He kept pursuing his dream.  Now, he’s a living legend. 

This 70-year-old, known to many as a storyteller, is perfect for this Imani’s “How to” Moment.   Of course, I can relate since I’ll always consider myself a storyteller.  Regardless when my book gets release in this winter, I’ll put author second on my literary resume.


I’ll explain in a moment, but first let me clarify why I posted the quote.

I’m sure many of you who are reading this are striving toward a dream.  Whether you’re a writer, author, musician, actor, or just want to be a better person, it takes commitment and patience.  An overnight success is a rarity.  In reality, you’re going to have to put on your boxing gloves and fight your way to your dream—punching the garbage of negativity with a Tyson right hook. 

I’m not just referring to your naysayers or haters because really, those are the same individuals who envy you for even going for it.  I’m saying the biggest obstacle for anyone pursuing their aspirations is overcoming their self-doubts. 

Listening to our so-call haters is one thing, but we don’t need to subconsciously have their words embed into our psyche. If you and I do, we might as well stop pursuing whatever we’re trying to do.  If they can get to you that easy, what do you think a critic will do when they tear your work or performance in pieces?  

I’m sure your favorite vocal artist, actor, or author, went through several bouts of fighting through the bullshit to get to where they are now. 

My Imani’s “How to” Moment, be a duck and let folks negativity roll from your back.  I had to learn over the weekend that some people can’t or won’t understand what I’m doing is another job.  I may not see a profit, but it’s a committed routine same as clocking into a nine to five profession.  I work on my manuscript, write and edit for my blog, and promote myself all in the name of a dream.

Writing is something I love to do.  When write I feel like ecstasy.  I feel as though as the pen is my sword and with it, I can overcome anything.  That same freedom when I do write helps bring to life amazing stories.  Having the title, Author is a privilege, but telling a great story is truly a gift.  So hence, I’m a storyteller.  And I wouldn’t have it any other way. 

In conclusion, other people’s negativity should be your motivator.  Don’t try to prove them wrong, just use your gifts to achieve greatness.  Who knows, your motivation could inspire them to conquer their own fears to achieve their dreams. They’ll thank you later.


"You got a dream, you gotta protect it. People can't do something themselves, they wanna tell you that you can't do it. You want something? Go get it. Period." — Pursuit of Happyness (Click here to see the video)
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They sat huddled among one another,shivering and scared.  Their bedroom was dimmed with only the moonlight peeking through the blinds. The room was modest and had the bare essentials of a dresser and a full-size bed.  To four years old Dante’, dwelling inside the vastness of the room overwhelmed him and his twin sister, Dharma.  He had his arm wrapped around her as she pressed her face against his shoulder. “I wish mommy would come home” she sniveled, “She hasn’t been home since Monday and now it’s Wednesday”.

Dante’ held his sister’s closer to him as his way of replying to her question. Then a tear streamed his face and he thought back the last time they saw their mother. 

It was Monday night, and their mother sat along the side of their bed conveying a peaceful smile.  She just read their favorite bedtime story, The Cat in the Hat. Dante’ remembered her touch as she caressed his forehead. “Now, little D” She said, “I know you’re only a few minutes older than your sister, but I trust you will hold the fort while I’m at work”.

“Yes, mommy” he answered boasting a smile.

After Dante heard the apartment door closed, he suddenly had this strange feeling.  Any other night when she went to work at her new job as a 911 dispatcher, he would lie in the same spot next to his sister without thinking twice and went to sleep. At that moment, he felt something was nagging at his soul as if a weight was pressing against his chest.

For two weeks since their mother had her new job, she had trouble finding a sitter.  Her mother was in a nursing home suffering from a stroke, and her father was killed by gun violence when she eleven years old.  As for child care, she couldn’t find an inexpensive place to take her children during the nightshift, and when she did found one, she was placed on a three week waiting list.  Basically, she had no choice to leave them at home alone.  At the least she had her seventy-five year old neighbor named, Mrs. Sanders, who lived in the apartment below them.  Since her neighbor didn’t have any room for the twins to sleep, the ladies arranged where she would check on them once in the middle of the night and again in the morning.  Every thing worked out well until Monday night.  Dante’ hadn’t seen or heard from their neighbor either.  It was though as the people who mattered were disappearing without a trace.

“Dante’, I’m hungry” whimpered Dharma

After sadly gazing at the extraordinary moonlight, Dante’ then looked to his sister and bravely replied, “Okay, I’ll make another peanut butter and jelly sandwich”.

He took his sister by the hand toward the kitchen that hadn’t been clean since Monday. Dirty dishes were piled in the sink and an overloaded trash can that sat close by. Dante’ wanted to wash the dishes, but being four years old he didn’t quite know where to begin.  So he and his sister did the best they could to care for themselves.  When they were hungry, they fixed peanut butter and jelly sandwiches or ate a bowl of cereal.  They never touch the microwave or stove since their mother warned them that touching those appliances were dangerous.

When the two returned to the bedroom, they sat on the bed nervously eating their sandwiches.  It was approaching one a.m., and the window was cracked opened to humming of cars and late night chatter from neighbors.  Then all of the sudden, a loud crash of tumbling trash cans interrupted their meal.  Dante’ sprang from the bed to investigate the noise.  His eyes wandered below the window at two cats prowling around the toppled cans. “Dante’, what is it” asked Dharma, “Is it mommy?”

“Naw, its two old alley cats looking for food” he answered with a sigh.

His sister eyes began to fog with tears.  She continued to watch her brother peep out the window and quickly thought of something horrible.  “Dante’, what if mommy went back doing what she did before she got clean” She whimpered.

Dante’ swiftly looked back to her and joined her on the bed.  He wiped her tears from cheek and courageously smiled.  “Mommy wouldn’t do that” He reminded her, “She promised us she’ll stay clean forever”.

“But what if…”

       "No, Dharma!” He interrupted, “Mommy doesn’t do that stuff anymore”

Dante’s eyes were glued to the window while consoling a frightened Dharma.  Then he thought back a year ago when their mother fought valiantly against drug abuse. When drug rehab didn’t work, she sought help at the last place she thought of ever going, to church.  The ministry had temporary child care for mothers who attended drug counseling. 

He remembered his mother knelling to his eye level, bravely smiling with her dark circles staining her eyes.  “I love my babies” She said as her voice broke, “When I’m finish with this program, mommy promises to the both you that I’ll stay clean from here on out”.  She caressed Dharma’s long ponytail braid and began to weep.  Then a heavy set woman told her it was time for the meeting.  It was one of the ministers’.  Their mother followed the dark-skinned woman with a short afro through a set of double doors. The piercing sound of those steal doors shattered Dante’s heart, and wondered if his mother would be alright.  She made promises of getting clean time after time.  Yet, he had a feeling at that moment she was going to get through it, despite his lingering fears. 

Contrary to the sound he heard outdoors, the same shattered feeling had returned.  He couldn’t get reassured of knowing if his mother was okay without seeing, or least, hearing her soft-spoken voice. The boy’s emotional heroics were soon diminishing. 

“Dharma, why don’t you go to sleep” He told her, “Maybe mommy will be home by the time you wake up”.

With some reluctance, Dharma abided her brother’s request and lay inside the bedspread.  In her tiny voice she asked him, “What if she doesn’t come, Dante’”.

“Stop thinking like that!  Remember what mommy always tells us?” he asked while fluffing her pillow.

“What’s that?”

“We need to have faith!” he said.

Dharma forced a smile to her twin brother as if those words had calmed her nerves. She pulled the cover close to her chin and went to sleep.

While watching her sleep, he prayed silently for a miracle.  Dante’ looked toward the window again at the moonlight, asking God to bring their mother home safe and sound.  He didn’t care if she started using again; he just wanted to be in her arms.  When drugs were her way of life, she always managed to put food on the table and kept a roof over their heads.  Her faults and mistakes were between her and God. 

Hours have past and Dante had finally drifted to sleep.  Then a strange, soft sound entered the room.  He raised from his pillow and a saw his mother standing inside the same moonlight that had been keeping them company all night.  “Mommy, you’re home!” He groggily smiled.  Dante looked over to his sleeping sister, and then looked back at his mother.   “Mommy, where you been?” He asked her.


            Still wearing the same clothes she wore two days ago, she shown a calming grin.  With the radiance of the light shining against her brown skin, his mother approached the side of his bed to sit down.  “Mommy, what happened?” He asked, “Me and Dharma been here for two days scared”.

His mother placed her warm lips on his forehead and then began to tuck the bedspread around him. “Little D” She said as she patted his head, “I’m sorry you and your sister were left alone since
I’ve been gone.  It’s just…”

“Are—are you—back on drugs?” he nervously wondered.

“No baby, I’m clean as a whistle”

“So where you been?”

His mommy reached over to his sleeping sister and caressed her unraveled ponytail.  “Dante, I want you do something for me” she said as she stayed focused on Dharma.

“What is it, mommy?”

“You’ve been so being brave since I’ve been gone” she said and then paused to look back at him, “Your sister is going to need you, okay?”

“Okay, mommy”              

His mother stood up and kissed him on his cheek.  “Mommy, can you cook us French Toast when we wake up?  Peanut butter and jelly sandwiches getting is a bit old” he quietly giggled.

She placed a single finger on his lips and whispered a hush.  “Little D, I want you to remember one thing as long as you have breath in your body” she said.

“What’s that?”

“No matter how bad things get, just remember to keep the faith because there will always be tomorrow”

And then for some reason, Dante’s fears were calmed.  As much as he tried to worry about his mother, he felt somehow it wasn’t a need anymore.  Also, there was something else.  As he peered at his mother, confidence was prevailing than the shining moonlight.  “Now go to sleep” She told him.  He happily closed his eyes and slept through the final darkness of the night.

            Suddenly, he had awakened to loud murmuring outside the bedroom.  He sprang out of the bed, hoping his mother was in the kitchen cooking what he’d asked for.  “Dharma, she’s home! She’s home!” He exclaimed.

The two ran into the hallway to discover strangers in the living room.  It was the police and most of them wore jackets that read, CSU, and they looked just as surprised as the children were of seeing them. 

Wearing a two-piece dark suit, the
woman detective came towards the twins and knelled to their level.  Her blue eyes gazed through their
nervousness.  “I bet you’re probably
wondering why are there strangers in your apartment” She asked in a soothing voice.

The twins didn’t say a word.  They looked over her shoulder at the police curiously
walking from room to room.  Then Dante’
suddenly asked, “Where’s mommy?”

She somberly looked up to her
partner as if she was trying to find the answer through him.  She then glanced back at the children.  “I’ll tell you what” She answered, “Are you
hungry?  I know a place around the corner
that makes great French Toasts. Would you like that?”

The woman stretched her hands
expecting the children to oblige her to offer. “It’s okay, you can come with me. I’m the good guys” She said.

Dante’ glanced over to his sister
as she shyly had her head bowed to the floor. “I think its okay, Dharma” He said, “We can trust her”.  He laid his tiny hand inside the warmth of
the detective’s palm.  When his sister
noticed Dante was beginning to trust the woman, she followed along by taking
her other hand. 

As they were going to the squad
car, Dante’ saw a peculiar sight.  There
was police tape lined around the alley and a police offer taking photos of the
trash cans.  Lying nearby was a black
bag surrounded by loitering debris.  His
worst fears came true.  Tugging on the
woman’s jacket, she lowered back to his eye level.  “If I ask you something, could you be honest
with a four year old?” He asked her.

She looked toward the alley as if
she already knew the question.  He leaned
toward her ear to fretfully whisper, “Has my mommy gone to Heaven?

The woman eyes welted with tears
and nodded her head.  “I’m sorry,
sweetie” She said.  Dante’ held back his
tears because he remembered what his mother had told him a few hours ago, to
stay brave. 

            Out of nowhere, a young officer
came near the other detectives without noticing the children.  “Excuse me, Detective!” He exclaimed, “We
caught the man who killed the victim. The suspect admitted of robbing and killing the victim two days
ago.  And according to her job, she never
reported in to work.  As for Mrs. Sanders
she was admitted to the hospital three days ago and been there since. She also
said she left a message…”

“OFFICER!” interjected the woman.
She caught the man’s attention by using her head to point in the direction of
the children.  “That will be enough” She firmly

The Detective focused back on the
children, and then apologized for the officer’s insensitive actions.  Then Dante’ said something that shocked the
detectives and the nearby officers. 

“That’s okay” He quietly sobbed, “Mommy was good mommy. She never asked for anything from anyone to take care of us. And even when she was on drugs, mommy found somehow to care of me and my sister. People are so quick to look down at other people’s bad luck.  They don’t know what my mommy been through. But my mommy gave me a gift last night that I know I’ll keep forever in my heart.  She told me there will always be tomorrow. I know it is…..I just know it is!”

The woman nodded her head in
approval from his revelation.  She raised
her arm to dry her tears on her sleeve, and then escorted the twins inside the
car.  “Your mommy was a smart woman” she
tearfully agreed, assuming what he meant was dream.

As they drove away, Dante’ held his
weeping his sister.  “Dante’, who going
to take care of us” cried Dharma.

Just when he was about to answer,
he saw a crowd of curious onlookers watching the grim scene.  Among the hoards of people was their mother’s
spirit, smiling at her son.  He quietly
gasped as the squad car stopped at the red light. 

Without anyone else seeing her,
including Dharma, she mouthed the words to Dante’, “There will always be
tomorrow”, and blew a final kiss to him and disappeared.

“Dante’, what you are looking at”
asked Dharma, while drying her tears.

He returned his focus to his scared
sister, but shown a smile.  “Dharma, I
got the feeling everything will be okay. Remember, there will always be tomorrow—just remember that”.


© Imani Wisdom, 2011

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