The black girl
Its funny how one picture can mean so many things.I sit here staring at the little black girl in the portrait. She's a dark hershey colored girl of only eight it seems. She's sitting down on a chair in the middle of nowhere in what looks like her Easter's best. Her short, coarse hair is pulled back in a tangle of a pony tail coming to a halt and ending in a sharp point. Her legs are crossed and her hands clasped. Her face innocent, pure, yet wise beyond her years. Her eyes stare out at me like the mooon- seeing all, knowing all, knowing the truth. Poverty stricken, yet cpoing with her situation. She is a child: innocence not yet lost to the world, but I feel she has seen and knows so much more than I. her eyes a window to her soul....my soul. Telling me without words how harsh life can be, how unfair, unjust. Dark almond eyes convey thoughts: I'm black, I'll make it...Its not my fault I'm in this situation.....,who knows where life will lead me....on welfare... dead...sucumbing to drugs....She says everything, yet her lips are pursed tightly forever. But in her eyes hope remains as a distinct factor. Its like a secret she knows. The mystery can only be revealed through her eyes. Deciphering the symbols is hard. Who is this girl?...God thank you for letting my eyes see her eyes. She encourages me to do more...to be a better me....to have hope.
~V. Jones
~V. Jones