girls should not
make their beds in
shelters. my day begins.
to teenage angst and
true crises, bullets blast through
communities, the aftershock a ripple
effect reaching into everyone’s finances.
it was all about
thugs and suicidal watches but its
those close calls, those near falls that
really keep you on edge.
boy unsure if its girls
he likes hides behind stalls
peaking through walls and
wondering wouldn’t that be nice.
its my job
to catch them all, to
see them long before they fall.
try as i might
most are out of my sight .
girls sneaking first scissors,
then razors and finally staples and
pushpins onto stairwells deepening
fine lines into skin. marred she
adorns long sleeve wool sweaters under
polos bright and cries out loud
when asked why.
i want to
catch them all.
boys leave by side doors
in record breaking down pour
believing no one will notice.
when found he is more than
3 miles from where he started. he cried
and he cried and told me 20 lies till finally
the truth won out. he was looking for his
brother, birthed by another mother, believing
in him some truth from their father’s lies
i am neither
savior nor martyr just
one woman turned mother
praying for others and filling
cracks gone slack in walls
unsound. imploring dear god help
me keep this thing off the ground.
in these moments
i think i’ll crack, i look to
heaven and know no matter
what he’s got all our backs.
and so i write (wouldn’t you).