The Poetry Marathon

Knitting needles lock
Oak satchel sunflower hair
Space and time called kin

Freedom ain’t never been a land you see
Where we landed the sea
Barely sown or reaped
Never handed down cheap
Blood soaked and creeped

Mr Hughes show warned us
That place was never the place it seemed
Selling and crushing dreams
Even from its trees own seeds

Freedom ain’t never been a land you see
Where we hid the seek
Barely listen or speak
Always sold cheap
Bred strong and mean

We were so happy then
When
When
When
You held me on rainy days
Captive in the water for what seemed like hours
Only mere seconds until we drifted to shelter
Umbrella or indoor weather
Where we’d occupy the rest of the day

Those days are with our youth
Our happiness too
When when when you held me on rainy days

The crooks and curves of Chicago concrete streets are set deep deep deep

BAH BAH BAH
We rise and lay flattened prostrate whenever the pistol rooster speaks
Singing confirmation

Whooah Whooah Whooah
Sirens scream closely behind the scene
With no mountain-top dreams or affirmation

WE EW WE EW WE EW
A sluggish struggling symphony the ambulance hums and cries

Lead us not into temptation
Deliver us from evil lies

Grab my words babies and prayers to attention feet

Lord I long to be with you
But I got promises to keep

I borrowed that last line from Robert Frost
He was familiar with dark gloomy days
I wonder when he wasn’t writing poems did he speak to you this way

He had miles yet to go before he went to sleep

His sentiment comforts my pains in a way

The curses and crafts of Chicago streets are constitutional and cut deep

Child 4 shot in crossfire dies
16 injured 32 fatalities
Most weekends what we face

NRA WINS NEW CASE

NOBODY RUNNING
WE HAVE BEEN TRAINED NOT TONRUN FROM GUNS
ITS NOT ABOUT RUNNING ITS ABOUT THE RACE

BAH BAH BAH
we roll diwn the sides of the beds lay flat and pray

Whooah Whooah Whooah
ITS GONE OKAY
STAY DOWN BE THERE IN A MINUTE
CHECKING WINDOWS NO SPRAY

WE EW WE EW WE EW
WE CAN STAND
BREATHE
HAVE A GOOD DAY

hug my babies in my prayers every day we keep

Lord I long for you
But I got promises to keep

Doesn’t it remember you?
The last time it tapped your crown
The first time it rinsed you down
From your birth stool

Why doesn’t it remember you?
The last time you sat for hours
Muddied like it had been your first shower in months

How did it get this cold?
The first time was accompanied by three spirits
The father, his Son and his Holy Spirit
It’s the first time you can’t hear it
The crowd cheering you on

Why doesn’t it heal you anymore?
The faucet might as well be gone
Caked on dirt has set and won
There’s no oxygen for the voice to flow

When water can’t remember no more

I’m not turning back. No turning back. Those words push me through many situations. It’s too early for hindsight I think as I am typing this. When was the last time you were happily awake for twenty-four hours? Young adult art insomnia is the answer.

I am a Gigi that is raising the child that made me a Gigi and her aunt whom is soon eighteen. We live in a madhouse. One big pendulum of emotions. I haven’t really slept a full night in two years. We are pissy with potty-training rules, rules of the road, and plain ole stinking rules of life.

I typed in the answer to that one question so quickly that I should’ve known I’d done the same as always jumped without sight of landing safely.

“You don’t think about the big picture!” My teen tells often when her latest dream has not become my priority.

“ I believe that I do.” I say. Having learned that this conversation could go on for weeks if I don’t finish it.

“Well! You don’t think about it when you are accepting a new challenge. Maybe you think after you say yes!” She likes to look you in the eyes.

“That sounds right. I don’t have time to convince myself to turn away from something difficult that may help more than it is uncomfortable. You’re right about that!” I look in her eyes to confirm affirmation.

She and her teen brain chalk it up as defeat either way.

No turning back.
I need this for me, was the answer to the question.
I used all my working benefits to become a stay at home Gigi and take care of my granddaughter as her Foster mom until court says otherwise. During this time my daughter and I sought therapy as we added her brothers child into our space. It wasn’t easy, text book or fairytale.
I haven’t journaled really since graduate school. Haven’t spoken words of my poems in so long I don’t remember if I can Poet.

I will rest well tonight or not. I will have journal and pencil and pen on hand. I will set alarm for those hours I am sleeping and add to potty training routine. I will take time today to write my favorite words, imagined, royal, slang and every word in between. I’ll look over some forms and structures so that my gibberish might become real tings.