Dérive
A Friday Summer night when the breeze blows coolly through the porches of this poverty. Mind Playin Tricks on Me by the Geto Boys blasts from a house down the street, “I’m a white nigga” yells a black child across the street at their sibling while the elders laugh. These are the moments of our lives that we poor folks wrest back, the too short weekends we hie to enjoy.
I spent over a decade indulging a pathological avoidant who never allowed themselves to be vulnerable to me and the muted pain of loss is ever present but manageable. I am strong in isolation and sure of myself. I temper the anxiety of an upcoming week away from my child, the longest we’ve ever been apart, he’s growing more aware of his reality by the day and I’m preparing to be honest with him in a way he can understand, that is not overwhelming or burdening, preparing but not yet ready.
The varied cryptic patterns in the cocoons in glimmering gold and hint of black. The goo inside contains memories. They’re closing 37 schools, the system is sick and ruinous. I witness child abuse daily, often more than once, and their refrain remains the same “Kids out robbin people and shootin old ladies, they need a good ass whoopin, we used to get it in school and our parents was HAPPY to let em, then we got it when we got home too! that’s what these kids need!”…”Nineteen ninety motherfuckin ONE!”.
”What’s happening, Papa?”
”Is he a bad guy?”
”It’s hard to explain, son”
”All space is occupied by the enemy”
Added “Didion & Babitz” to the current reading list which I purchased from the newest local bookstore Leviathan .
Order copies of my latest collection of poems Here .
XO JWS