Jason Reynolds's Blog, page 4

Day 30 of 30

RECLAMATION OF ROPE

yarn braided together

brother we are fiber

sister we are strand

tensile tough twisted

around throat and

threat brother sister

we can gnaw the apple

from adam snatch his

voice from his neck

us as rope it will fit

perfectly in this

together-mouth I am

certain will not knot

Day 29 of 30

FISH DINNER

my mother was frying fish

today and i hate when she

fry fish because the stink

get all in my cotton like

summer funky or cigar and

i say why you always gotta

stink up the house when i

gotta go somewhere and don’t

wanna show up humming of

catfish and grouper and

sizzlin’ old grease from

last week’s fry and she say eat

boy shut up eat because love

sometimes gotta smell like

fish to feel like full belly

Day 28 of 30

A REMINDER AND RECKONING (in need of a rest)

at some point i must admit

that i am not composed of stone

that i am not an iron spit

hot but unburned above the flame

at some point i will need to sit

and take heed of my flesh and bone

and maybe even cry a bit

and beat my head and scream my name

jason jason grind and grit

don’t forget you’re not alone

for everywhere is where you fit

and everyone feels just the same

Day 27 of 30

ON COSBY (or OFF COSBY)

cliff huxtable snuck

late night snacks. nightmares. woke up

in a different world.

Day 26 of 30

ON HUBRIS AND KANYE

what happens when you

start to see yourself

more as savior

than servant

what makes a king jam

the tines of his crown

into the chests of

the crown makers

and gesture as jester

jesus as they bleed

Day 25 of 30

WHAT WE DONT WANNA TALK ABOUT WHEN WE TALK ABOUT JORDAN

i was lucky i felt

lucky to be around

to see a black man

fly through the air

tongue out to tease

the world camera

flashes bouncing off

bald shine ball in

hand outstretched

superhero red and

black and black man

had me feeling lucky

to be black turned

shoes into spaceships

and forcefields and

targets worth the

risk as a black boy

who believed they

could make me jump

higher than hate

i hate to say this

now i hate to say

this now i hate to

say i felt like a

fool to find he

thought less of the

boom bap and record

scratch that made

him took him from

athlete to astronaut

red there is red

around here and black

kids in your city see

it and many wear your

shoes while walking

through minefields they

have given their

arms to you and hope

to make it to your

jersey number

the first one and

you be the last one

to come around and

to me someone who use

to feel lucky about you

knows that’s just

bull shit

Day 24 of 30

THE PROBLEM WITH JUST OUR LUCK

we would joke about how

we’d all grow up and have daughters and daughters would be some kind of penance for the sins of sons

like we aint have mothers

like we aint know the difference

between human and couch

like daughters are ominous mind-changing curses wrapped in cute

da da juju

im buying a shotgun

no dating until thirty

chaperoning prom after i

threaten her date

our mirror our memory

a madness in masculinity

making it about us

when it’s never been about us

and always about us

and now i wonder what if

we all had sons

Day 23 of 30

HOMEGIRL

i grew up with fight you girls

hoodied and booted and vaselined

face shining like fingers after fried food

girls with teeth tongues and bedazzled

bricks for fists and snatch-backs like

fountain streams of black gold

eraser back earring girls who

blow bubbles and burst them whose jokes

are jagged recitations of rap lyrics

whose hinged necks use halos

as loose hula hoops ’round their heads in case

i ever got too comfortable with heaven

Day 22 of 30

FATHER SON BONDING

praying hands handcuffed, engulfed in flames sewn, burned, etched

into my forearm either says that i needed to say something or

i was a dramatic fifteen year old. or i needed to cry out.

my father watched to make sure i didn’t cry. he was the king

of tattoos. arms covered since i was a kid. limbs like graveyards

for lost siblings and lost minds and lost times when black aint

ink at all, when ink aint show at all unless you wanted to starve

or fight or be called not black. you been hanging with crazy

white boys. you crazy if you think you can do what they do to

their bodies, if you think you can call it art, if you think you

can attach it to an africa you never knew. don’t you know what

the bible say about temples? so i got a cross the following

year. and a dove on my back because doves were in and im a peace

cliche at eighteen. and an ankh on my chest because i grew up seeing

my mother where one around her neck before music made us wear

brown and green and pretend to know things we didn’t, but feel like

we could be things we wanted. poetry. and pride. and a kora on my

leg and a typewriter and some circles, the horn of a continent my skin is

itching to be scratched by, sankofa on a sofa and on and on and on. my body

is a timeline. dots on a spectrum. stakes in a porous land. a gallery

building being ever built based on the blueprint inked into my father’s brown.

Day 21 of 30

MY FATHER POSTPONED HIS SHOULDER SURGERY SO WE COULD GO ON VACATION

son i can’t be in a sling

slung one-armed and lop as i take

this ride with you this could be an adventure

anything could happen i can’t risk it

might have to take the wheel

might have to avoid a pothole

might have to turn/left then turn back/right

might have to throw a ball

might have to throw a heavy thing away

might might have to throw a punch

have to ease into a hole

might have to climb out of one

might have to help you climb out of one which means

might have to reach out for you

hug you with my whole/he said

yes it might feel like my arm is twisting but

son this could be an adventure worth the risk

son we have so much to catch up on