Jason Reynolds's Blog, page 6

Day 10 of 30

FOR MY SIBLINGS

(two of the three, though I love the baby too!)

my older sister is home from college

shows up at the door

as the tickle monster

her fingers wiggling clawing at my tender belly

typing laughter through my armpits

like a brilliant thesis

until i can’t breathe

while my older brother plugs his ears

and cuts the legs

off a new pair of guess jeans

bleaches them the day after our mother

breaks a check

so that he can avoid

fists in his gut

sucker punches and bully songs

our mother yells

sings them anyway in a broken tone

her best rendition of love

the best she could do at the time

to hold on hold on

wrap her fingers around his throat

tears trickle and tickle the

back of mine

and i wish my sister was there

and i take up for him

and he takes it out on me

and it may not come out of me

or it may later on

and later on i realize

we are a poem

a poem for real with the things

that poems need to be poems

and people need to be family

one that is strange and lovely

one that is ugly and interesting

my older sister and brother

the line and break

the rhythm and scheme

the wonders that somehow

made me letter

Day 9 of 30

A SIMPLE THOUGHT ON WHY

while i hope my life endures

the test of time and many tours

it only counts if it amounts

to much less mine and much more yours

Day 8 of 30

ABOUT LOVE POEMS

(the good ones, of course. lol)

how they pass on and passion and

dance and dip and press and sweat and

shoulder and knee and back and back of knee

and lobe and taste and touch and trust

and fluster and free and naked and free

and sing aloud loudly and sing aloud and sing

and sing entangled enraptured and break

open and up and out but never in and say

something and say it again and ask and

say it again and yes is love and no is love

when met with love and

how dirty ain’t the same as dirt

or a dirty word

Day 7 of 30

CHARACTERS

(a haiku for haiku…and, ahem…twitter)

i wish more of us

spoke in haiku, considered

the weight of each word

Day 6 of 30

MONUMENTAL

(for a young lady I met today in San Antonio)

a murmuring heart thanked me today

for being an obelisk of brittle

bones breaking publicly

crumbling in its presence

calling it cousin and comrade

and on beat and off beat

and nothing not normal

Day 5 of 30

GUN BABY

(for the kids in Parkland and everywhere else, who have had enough)

on a sweaty night

one void of romance or tenderness

or human compassion a night of

hate making fear making

tongues vaccumed to the backs

of throats raw with carnality

mouths hollowed empty hallways

sweet nothing-less

sour and silent

a baby is conceived

and after a few minutes

just a few moments comes

journeying a short distance

tearing from a urethra

all springs and steel and grip

pat it on its back to make

sure it’s alive

warm it with your palms

and marvel at its glint

whisper to it what it will

be when it grows up

big and strong and powerful

and aimed at greatness

put it to your breast but

be careful of its suckling

it teethes early

feed it and feed it and feed it

feed it until it’s full

feed it and be proud

of your fat rambunctious baby

your offspring with no off switch

your mirror

whose mess you will never

be able to clean up

Day 4 of 30

THE FEAR OF FORCEPS AND FUTURE SUTURES

(a profile, for the 50th Anniversary of Dr. King’s Death)

a man who had just finished eating

fried chicken and catfish with his

brother and pillow

fighting with his partners

laughing and laughing unwound

blowing off steam before

unrolling sleeves tightening tie

coating and masking and getting back

to the work of trying to remove

the bullet from america’s skull

has just been told by america

that america dont think he no doctor

that america feels fine

that america hasn’t noticed the blood

in its own eye

Day 3 of 30

FOR WINNIE

to fight white air

wrapped around brown

throat bluffing as breeze

is to become a fireball

a skin-peeling heat

orb that burns inside

out through conviction

with conviction on what

it takes to cut gust

and who on earth can deny a sun?

and who will not miss it

when midnight is only

and the wind is whipping

and whipping the dark?

Day 2 of 30

THE EVOLUTION OF THE TALK or THIS HAS ALWAYS BEEN OUR ACTIVE SHOOTER DRILL

(for Stephon Clark’s grandmother)

shave your face. a haircut

even. kiss your kids. your

partner. your parents. tell

them you listened. you kissed

their asses like you were

taught. kissed their asses and

still. walk. or run. don’t

matter. glue your identification

to your forehead. wrap yourself

in the flag. hide your slang

under your tongue. delete

your profile. scrub

the net. clean your blood. prepare

your body for peepholes

no one will ever peer into.

HERE WE GO! National Poetry Month, 30/30! Honestly, every year it seems that my life gets more and more…complicated, so, this is going to be a challenging month. But…I’m in it! (Remember, these are scratches…drafts…ruffs…so chill.) Day 1 of 30

ON MY OLDER BROTHER BEING IN LOVE

(So happy for him)

my older brother is to me

some kind of saint heavy

with stigma and stigmata

a prisoner of faith he’s been

a pergatory for passersby

and passersthrough

who jam fingers into wounds like

into ears to cork leaks and stop the

clock on his bleedout

but due to pressure gashes them wider

searching for heaven and got heavy

ripping like jeweled posts through earlobes

further deafening and damaging

my older brother the saint who I swear

was just one heartbreak from hole

but now in the smileshot

of an un’fraid unfang’d flirt

and the flutter of

faith from some savior

who can see saint aint nothing but

miracle meet man