Jason Reynolds's Blog, page 7

Day 30 of 30

DEAR BLACK CHILD (a haiku)

you are a giant

convinced that standing straight up

is bending over

Day 29 of 30 (ONE MORE TO GO!)

AL, FROM BELLE GLADE, FLORIDA

a sliver of a young man

with skinny sucker sticks

for arms and fists the candy

skin thick

muddy like oil from a car

cadillac big and american

made

a fighter

all punch and pimple

and cane ash because

sweet gets torched in

belle glade

down in the muck where

the mighty are made

told me

he was the number one

boxer in the state

top ten in the country

used to being

punched in the face

don’t happen much though

he said because he knows

how to move

knows how to move

away from knuckles

knows how to move

away from knockouts

knows how to dance

and dodge and duck

and wait

to devastate

but all i could see

was a child in a

gloveless world

with broken bits that

have mended abnormally

a boy with a heart on fire

the saccharine long burnt off

the ash floating like cold

snow behind his eyes

a kid that doesn’t really know

how to move

at all but knows

how to make a living

throwing haymakers

Day 28 of 30

ANCESTORS

if grandpa was here he’d pinch the soil

drop it’s crumbles on his tongue

taste yesterday and tomorrow and tell me

something has gone

and something is coming

and everything is just the same

if grandma was here she’d pinch my cheeks

take my smile in her eye

see yesterday and tomorrow and tell me

something has gone

and something is coming

and everything is just the same

be worried black child

grandpa would say

don’t worry sweet thing

grandma would say

and i am here

just here standing with

yesterday in heart and tomorrow in mind

searching for a peculiar wind

one that can move earth

and blow a kiss

Day 27 of 30

LEAVES (a thank you note to ALL the kids ive met along the way)

the laughter of little ones

is latticework for the ivy

vine who has in search of sun

rambled too far from root

Day 26 of 30

CHOMP (or FOOD POISONING or TOP CHEF)

perhaps america does

not eat its young

but instead gnaws

on youth until

they are convinced

they are food

a curious culinary

connundrum for assumed

food to lose flavor

to grow into

fools who feel

like they are seasoned

chefs

Day 25 of 30

ON COTTON (thinking of South Carolina)

if you’ve ever stuck your

fingers in a cotton boll

you’d know

cotton don’t never

want to be picked

you’d know cotton

bites and nips at nailbeds

makes cuticles bitter

black cherries

and so i wonder

if my great-great-anyone

wept on line with sack in tow

maybe whispering a chant

of comraderie

of connection to the downy

for knowing what

it meant to be

picked and plucked

and ripped from home

twisted and tightened

and spun into yarn

Day 24 of 30

AN HONEST TALK WITH DAUGHTER (if i have a daughter)

daughter

your mother will teach you

how to swing and wield

she will show you

how to cut

how to open skin

of things

how to shine and slit

and make halves of

this whole world

and i

will tell you

what blood tastes like

my mouth made rose

from kissing your

mother’s crimson creases

i will whisper to

your wounds as well

i will clench stitch-up

needle and thread

between teeth

house your scream

under my tongue

keep you from tasting

your own iron

but still

i cannot swing and wield

a sword i have never had

the strength to lift

i cannot pretend to

know how to cut

or open skin clean

i cannot begin to

know the weight

of woman and weapon

i only know

how to be sheath

daughter

i only know

how to be sure

you are safe

and sharp

Day 23 of 30

NAKED

i’m tired of writing poetry

feel like poetry is tired of

me searching for silk words

to suit a soggy world

i love you still works

i’m angry does too

i’m frightened i know is

just fine

Day 22 of 30

EARTH DAY, 2017 (for the planet)

took a while to figure out

what to say

this poem

feels like an apology

feels like an obituary

had a bunch of siblings

had a bunch of cousins

family everywhere

but not a friend in sight

Day 21 of 30

GROWL (for all the good people, and there are some, I’ve met in middle America after the election who feel…uh…taken.)

to tell a hungry man

with hug and humor and

hubris that you will

teach him to fish knowing

his empty belly

has him blind to the fact

that he is landlocked

to promise

to say to him

i can hear your stomach

growling from my penthouse

and to know that in famine

even phony feels like food