Jason Reynolds's Blog, page 2

Day 20 of 30

LIFE OF A PARTY

my mother raised

her boys to braise

and braid and sew

and saw and sing and

dance and dress and

duck before the swing

and swing before the

jump and jump before

someone tell you

your place is in

a safe with no

combination and say

aint no combination

for men they only meant

to bruise and brew

and boil over and

burn and break

themselves into

futile confetti of

stars and hearts and

diamonds of all colors

which at that point

ain’t nothing but

the spilled guts of

a potential party

Day 19 of 30

I SORT OF CLEANED THE HOUSE TODAY

it was like writing a poem.

it was like situating language,

winging where to punctuate,

wringing parts of myself out,

looking for not an answer

and not a question, but whatever

lies between like the tucked

sheet or throw pillows that

i never throw, because they’re

more than decoration, but

not really for sleeping on.

and whatever weird exercise

is between mop and sweep, but

not dust. and not wash and not

dry, but more in the lifting

of a greasy pot to the faucet.

Day 18 of 30

SUNDAY WALK DURING THE QUARANTINE

another day,

another walk,

this time more than a

mile, up through

eastern market

where white people

and me pretended

it was just another

day, and these masks,

bandana for me,

was just the season’s latest

surgery or handbag or filter.

are you open sir? then, why

are you open sir? well, don’t

answer that because i’d like

to order but first i need to

kill what might have made a

home on my hands.

and then up pennsylvania

past the post office,

left at the nation’s library,

down third through the

joggers and dog walkers

and tricyclists and

grandparents because

only grandparents live

around these parts.

stepped into the street like

wearing my grandmother’s

feet and this is about our

other virus, the one that

is our heartbeat, and palpitation.

then waited at the corner

at constitution.

a masked man held the

hand of a woman.

he nodded. i nodded back,

smiled behind my bandit

cloth. his cheeks lifted

his mask slightly above

his chin.

jason he called out.

paul, i replied,

affirmed that i could recognize

a friend just by looking in his eyes,

and happy he could recognize me

even with a matcha latte in hand.

Day 17 of 30

HAIKU FOR EVERYDAY BEING THE SAME DAY IN QUARANTINE

know what? whatever.

it’s…whatever, whatever.

at least I’m still here.

Day 16 of 30

CHIRP

Maybe first we’ll poke our heads out

and see if anyone else is poking their heads

out. Birds lifting their beaks over the lip

of the nest. Pry our eyes open in the sun.

Look left and right. And ahead at the house

across the street where Ms.Hawkins lived

before a while back when I don’t want

to talk about it. Maybe we won’t want

to talk about it. Or read about it.

Or dream about it. Or sing about it.

Like a baby unable to recall birth,

like a spirit unable to tell us what

dying is like. Maybe we will feel strangely

cleansed, but not enough to shake hands

but enough to smile at the neighbors

that bother us. Enough to laugh at the jagged

hedges that have grown unruly around the doorway

of our faces. Maybe we will listen to the party being

had before the party we inevitably throw,

the birds lifting their beaks over the lip

of the nest, chirping new, after pecking through eggshell.

Day 15 of 30

ODE TO QWERTY

there are days when I

have to return to the pad

when the home row don’t

feel much like home and

enter feels like exit

and shift feels like

a step too many to dollar sign

ampersand question mark

ampersand exclamation

ampersand asterisk

*and it makes me mad that

delete is so easy but

esc don’t really do nothing.

Day 14 of 30

JOURNEY

my mother

told me

today she

took a walk

and called

my father

to check

on him and

his wife

this walk

must have

been more

like a

journey

back home

where love

looks less

like seventh

grade sit-downs

teary-eyed

talks and

grit teeth

and more

like fucked

up forever

don’t mean

friendship ain’t

still fortune

Day 13 of 30

FRONT ROW

from inside

i watch nature

bloom hallelujah

and put on a concert

a ballet an opera

for an audience

who for a change

sits in their

seats and for

a change watches

a show they’ve been

in for years but

never seen

Day 12 of 30

EASTER IN QUARANTINE

the thing is

i too have risen

and still feel

the holes there

both dead and alive

supreme somber this

sunday i wonder

when they gon’ come

see about me

when they gon’ roll

away my stone

Day 11 of 30

INSOMNIA

and at 4am in the

blackness of exhaustion

my body is a carnival

in the middle of the

dessert the carousel on

automatic the horses

saddled by yesterday

and what needs to happen

at 9am and next year

keep smiling that

chompy cheese keep

smiling that toothy threat.