FOOL THAT I AM

for alice walker & mrs. dickeren's class

...not far from where he stood there existed still, it seemed to him, at least the shadows of his first life. he was on his third or fourth...final...gradually the lines had come, the perplexed lines between the eyes, placed as if against & in spite of the young, smooth & carefree brow...
--alice walker

somehow, i kept their 12 & 13 year old attention spans. sometimes they got it, or wanted to look like they did, but mostly there were several starts & stops

but i kept them focused, somehow. the laughs of 27 faces upon me, & for a few minutes we were all right there...

"writing = liberation"

i had written on the dry erase board, still hearing the screech of chalk across the old school slate wall as i then wrote

"silence = death"

they wanted to know, but more importantly, i needed to know what they knew. mostly to have something else, finally, to make the connection to.

they guessed my age in a contest that questioned their 6th & 7th grade perceptions of being pooor; their favorite places outside of chicago visited & imagined. just five questions total & i learned in 2, 40-minute class blocks that the youth are listening

...& they want to know that we're listening, too...

so they ask about hurricanes, express their desire to go to college, their fear of leaving their neighborhoods & they dance down hallways, run one another into lockers for laughs, still think wearing uniforms is "lame" & several are reading & writing at or below grade level(s)

today, i learned that we can all fly & out of the mouths & faces of 27 faces & 54-plus traces of kin

i yearned to be in their places
but i am so glad that i am where i am
today

simply because...

chicago, 2005

to throw this napkin at someone. land
somewhere so somebody knows i mean
business. i'll still pretend it wasn't me...

it was the waitress. she's worked here
less weeks than i have more. but i don't
work here, & still i'm not necessarily

aware of my hand moving this pen to the next
line. what genre was culture club? the
boy was a gender all his own. like

anthony huff shaving his eyebrows because of
"do you really want to hurt me?"

he was a tough kid in the projects. i damned
his soul because of his bravery. his foolishness,
too.

i love this line! it starts off sweet in
my mind & sounds good as i caress
this steak-sauce; stained remnant of

a napkin. knowingly only that
i'm moving my other hand:

a writing act to

the next

line

stopping/specifically

H.
9-10-2005

for michael williams, jr.

the sun is leaving earlier
i noticed today that it's
a trick on my eyes because
everybody's still moving around
as if the sky was lit

maybe early evening
when all my chores are done
& there's just enough time
to see a movie on cable
& maybe call a few people

the sun leaving earlier
evokes a response
that sometimes comes in
small gestures

light brushes of my eyes
against the pure air of movement
merely blinks
acknowledgements of the present
where
there are conversations i want to have
that i can't have with others
& because he doesn't know me
he might be the one to coax the talk
out of me

the number came from someone
who told someone else & they told me
so i used it because at church i'm just
there & even afterwards, daddy
just takes me to my grandmother's
where i can go outside, but inside,
there are still these conversations
i want to have

like how the sun is leaving earlier
& when i finally talked to him
i decided that i could talk to him
& wanted to talk to him
early enough in the evening
that my father would think i
had been in the house...

i hope he likes me...

we've talked so much
i feel like i know him...

i wonder what he looks like...

it's late...

...i have to go home!

H.
9-8-2005