The older I get the more I realize that vulnerability becomes a necessary part of the arsenal for survival. This pandemic has revealed to many that they are only moments away from life being altered in unimaginable fashions. Therefore, summoning up the courage to go the store for groceries is a herculean task but life threatening to say the least. As one of my colleagues and a friend shared with me during a phone call 3 weeks ago, “Foulks, if I get this virus, I don’t think I will make it.” Those words have echoed in my mind, heart and spirit since that day. And friends, I feel the same way. Knowing my vulnerabilities has given me a freedom. Everyday is a ….
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Syncopated Hustle 
… vacillation between the vulva and the Vulgate. Equally vulgar in various ways; the vicissitudes of the former, the verisimilitudes of the latter. In each, my vulnerability has been seen and succumbed to. Now threadbare, I am an excoriated example of an attempt to choose in an effort to emancipate. I suppose the pandemic will mark my transcendence from deciding to be vulnerable to knowing that I always was.