Jason Reynolds's Blog, page 9

Day 10 of 30

YOU ARE APPRECIATED (or FOR THE RECORD)

tupac’s rock

and roll hall

of fame speech

would’ve been

a tribute to

rosetta tharpe

Day 9 of 30

AWAKE (or WOKE BABY, lol)

at a cafe near my house

a baby girl with constellation eyes

and a smile like a prostrate

crescent moon stares in reverence

at a ceiling fan

hypnotized by revolution

by a thing twisting breath into breeze

spinning invisibility into cool

while we adults coo and pinch cheeks

forgetting to pinch our own

to remind ourselves that

this is not a dream that

what we are actually doing

over caffeine

is watching the miracle of life

watching the miracle of life

we’ve be asleep to

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Day 8 of 30

RELAX (or IF WE CANT EVEN SAY OR HEAR THE WORD…)

white

the word

white

be like triggering

a sprinkler

rain on the inside

alarming to

white

the people

wet

with strange discomfort

like water aint water

like white aint white

and black aint flame

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Day 7 of 30

SECRETS

there were moments my mother

would tell me secrets

over dinner

show me where the scars were

where oily skin folded itself

into pain crevices like receipts

of undesirable produce

voice trembling and tumbling

into me like marrow loose

from jagged bone

secrets that cut and stuck

and stayed and fattened like

foot-in foot-out lovers that

slump sofas and kissy-kissy

whenever threatened with

get the hell out

secrets that knew how

to use fork and knife

better than she did

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Day 6 of 30

POST-ELECTION, 11/09/16

slopey shoulder seams

soggy sleeves too long

white shirt wrinkled

baggy gappy dingy collar

puckered and jagged

from misaligned buttons

two-button blazer like

trash bag in midnight

wide tie tied too tight

knot no different

than yesterday’s but

feels chokey now

pants got no seat all

waist but no room and

unraveling hem

him

staring aghast

disgusted disoriented

tugging at the fabric

picking at the now

unfamiliar fibers

pulling and pulling

but not pulling it off

after all this is

his only suit so

instead called out

for his wife

to ask about where

this new mirror

came from

Day 5 of 30

ON THIS DAY, APRIL 5TH 1954: THE KING DONT LIFT A FINGER (or ROPE BURN)

elvis records his debut

“that’s all right”

his a loose term

like mine

like ours

like arthur crudup’s

like ain’t you ever

heard the voice of

a man sangin’ like

he was born with

a noose ’round

the inside of

his neck?

well that’s arthur

his song

not elvis

no elvis is who took

that noose straightened

that rope ran it through

trouser loop to hold

his heavy pockets

high enough

to shimmy

but you know

that’s all right

oh that’s all right

yeah that’s all right

Day 4 of 30

SOLO FOR VIOLA DAVIS

anyone who’s played

will tell you

no one writes parts

for the viola

the intonation

the voicing

when played altogether

is too alto

to hear

not meant for solo

not meant for standout

like the violet

of the orchestra

beautiful end of

the spectrum

between indigo and the

invisible ultra

but got a shine to it

like the brass

always trying

to blow it out

trying to swallow it

in lightning flash

but see

the viola

got thunderweight

requires strong chin

and back unbreakable

requires whole body

to make sound

to make something

ugly and pretty

in we clef

and anyone who’s played

will tell you

the viola

just be too much for most

can’t be plucked

or bowed

as easily

made different

got a thicker kind

of string attached

Day 3 of 30

LEAN IN or HOW TO MAKE A WELL-MEANING RACIST NERVOUS or HOW TO LAUGH AT THIS NONSENSE or FOR THE CULTURE

There was one time

I was in a car with

an older white man

who told me

he’d never really

talked to black

people never even

looked us in

the eyes

that this

was new for him

I had

news for him

it sounded like silence

and automatic doors

locking

Day 2 of 30

TALK

there is still

language in breath

catching in throat

still language

a code

catalyzed by

cold on the

small of back

the sound of

sizzling inhale

audible only to

you and I

the coiners of

such words

Heeerrrrre we go! National Poetry Month, 30/30. Day 1 of 30

So, I’ve been in hiding. Social media hiding. And it’s been wonderful. I’m fine. Just needed to focus on my work. BUT, April is here, which means it’s time for me to attempt to do what I (and lots of my friends) always do, National Poetry Month, 30/30. A poem a day for the entire month, which is honestly just ridiculous, but I do it anyway. Remember, these are ROUGH DRAFTS. Okay…here we go!

YUSUF (for a young man Brendan and I met in Wellesley, MA)

In a crowd of his peers

Yusuf the tallest eighth grader

rose like an obelisk

stone and symbolic and

coded and misunderstood

by those that only see him

as a random spike

in the town square

he wanted to know

our thoughts on religious freedom

he wanted to know

if we’d ever had porkchops

hurled at our windows

if we’d ever had paper tacked

to our Mosque door

where the A in Allah

a tent

a home of warmth and respect

had been turned to missile-head

he wanted to know

what he should do

and I wanted to say

to Yusuf the tallest eighth grader

with legs of a grown man and

heart of anything but

I wanted to say to him

so much

so much

wanted to say

sweet child

sweet child

don’t cry

don’t worry

the world is yours

but I could not tell him

to just be thirteen

I could not tell him

a lie