• Poem 1/30/09


    I am from the scent of oranges and the mist of lemon scented furniture polish that was sprayed throughout. I am from the gap that lies between the floor and the couch. That’s where I hid and thought and remembered the dusty haze that lay in my brother’s room.

    The taste of candied yams, the terrible drinking problem, and the television turned onto power rangers filled the room with great despair. The wild strawberries that grew in the yard, to the time I drowned them with the water that I flooded my house with.

    I am from this magical place. From the time I lit my home on fire to the time I made bean maracas, I am from this place that we call home. This place that means something to me. This place of hell and heaven. This place of sanctuary and deceit.