Jason Reynolds's Blog, page 11

Day 20 of 30

MORNING

and in the morning

i smell the

night funk

surfing past my nostrils

the sleep rolling off

my skin like

sexy satin robe

the day is nude

the night is bashful

and i

satisfied

stretch my arms

and make halo over my

own head

and smirk

Day 19 of 30

LA PETIT MORT

tonight i am

tired so tired

so tired

i could dissolve

into static wall

of zeroes and ones

and x’s and y’s

into white noise

of blackness

bone coma

death breath

have you ever wanted sleep

to eat you?

to crush you under the weight

of its warmth?

have you ever wanted

so bad

so bad

to feel

its tongue on your neck

like a new acquaintance’s

first attempt at becoming

lover?

Day 18 of 30

GYMNASTICS

two days ago i saw

a gymnast

do a frontflip onto a balance beam

a jump up in the air thing

and came down in a split

then bounced back up

james brown style

tip-toed spinny thing

like a badass ballerina

strutted to the edge

stopped spun spun again

threw her arms up

smiled smiled smiled

stopped smiling

focused

took off sprinting

threw herself into

cartwheel then into

blackflip then into

i don’t even know what

off the balance beam

up in the air

twisting like a gold coin

flicked by God’s thumb

landing like she aint

do nothing but step

off a damn curb

and it was perfect

to me

but they ain’t score it

like that

and yesterday

i saw my mother

sitting on her bed

massaging her calves

soaking her feet

wincing wincing wincing

and then she noticed me

looking and

smiled smiled smiled

Day 17 of 30

MORE OFTEN THAN NOT

or GOOSE AND GANDER

when men yell rape

no men yell liar

especially when

they’re raped by men

but women yell rape

which then sets fire

to claims that claims

are paper thin

and i don’t deem

all men as fools

but sometimes I

sure wish i could

for it does seem

that privilege rules

and bias barks

in victimhood

Day 16 of 30

OLDER

last night

i sat with my childhood

friends around a table

all of us laughing

laying cards down

slapping hands

comparing notes on

our cherished and

our challenges

on our children

and their

terrible choices

especially in

music

what exactly do they be sayin’

one of was sayin’

like we weren’t the ones

who gave them themselves

we the babies of the millionth

golden age of everything

searching for boom bap

and paper footballs

in each other’s eyes

bragging about how

we getting old

but not getting old

like we ain’t never

butt in

to grown folks business

when they were saying

things like

things just ain’t the same

Day 15 of 30

FOR BROOK STEPHENSON

there was that time i told you

you were doing God’s work

remember that

and i don’t know why i said that

i mean i don’t know where it came from

i mean i don’t know what God got planned

or what work he working on

but i knew i had to tell you

something because something

was changing me

this thing you were doing

were being

was changing me

like a new sweater worn beneath the skin

like the ability to feel hair growing

like hearing the story behind the story

you a story

on top of a story

on top of a story

a Detroit skyscraper

with enough room

for all us

a brooklyn brownstone

still brown occupied

with no buzzer and no lock

and a worn-in couch for

a worn out friend

and these days i just be

so preoccupied

i can’t help it

i just be preoccupied

with where you came from

where you came from

and where you go

where you go

and what work you working on

now

Day 14 of 30

AUTOGRAPH

whipping the black ink

into the curve of the r in reynolds

glancing from autograph

to autobiography in her eyes

my father’s in prison

she whispered

her life half-written

i go to alternative school

she whispered

red-marked awk? nec? sp?

thank you for what you said

her voice broke

spine out shelved already in hardback

i just need a second chance

i’m not bad

i just need a second chance

you know

she said

I know

I said

capping the black ink

staring into her story

watching a person become

permanent marker

Day 13 of 30

ON SPIRIT

why try to frame

and box in what’s true

when boxes all somehow

make contents askew

why try to name

the beautiful glue

that thankfully somehow

connects me to you

Day 12 of 30

QUESTION: ON GUNS AND CHILDREN

you think maybe

one day

we’ll peer

into peepholes burned

into the faces

of the future

and see the present?

Day 11 of 30

IF TRUMP WINS #2: ON APATHY

i’m leaving america

is bad poetry

an addition to the library

of memes

another hashtag

retweeted for

at least four years

an overused though invisible

ellipsis attached to the end

to say

if but when and

oh what a cataclysmic shriek

staged by us performance artists

way too afraid to

quit jobs and pack bags

so we’ll do what we always do

climb into bed

pull the comforter up to our chins

night lights

stuffed animals

bedtime stories

about bombs and borders

and bullshit

slipping into sleep apnea

rapid eye movement

rolling over

eventually folding into fetal

with i’m leaving america

as pacifier in mouth

warmed from the notion that

the american dream

ain’t got nothing on

the american way