Paralyzed: An Ode to Toni Morrison

Will you accept a gift?

A gift to give folly importance?
This gift to give names to noun?
A fine gift to make adjectives successors?

Will you?

And if unwrapped notice the gift is familiar.
Words you've written, I've read and altered very little.
They have not made a void returned, you see?
Therefore, with pleasure to undue my commonness, I bind these words and present them to you.

I explain:

I have buried my mind in deep holes of God's schemes, longing for my name.
And was flattered when my moons were brightened and prophesied through teeth of preaching elders with smooth hands.
With this, is it strange my name was found in death?
At the dancing feet of a mother on fire?

Verily my name unfolded in Sula's stillness.
As the fire sparks that embraced her mother greeted Sula's open eyes.
T'was on that page of Hannah's last breath a revealing of my birth; a reason.
I was born to write.

The convincing part is I'd watched Hannah burning not because I was paralyzed...
...but because I was interested.

Will you accept a gift?
... to give folly importance?
... to give names to noun?
... to allow me to be your successor?