| This Edition's Poetry |
Where I live
Where I live
is not
where I grew up
Where I live
is green, is farms, is God
Where I lived
back then
is not
where I grew up either
Where I lived then
was green, was suburban, was nearly heaven
Those are the middle of the road times
Where I grew up
was concrete, was steel, was the bowels of hell
Where I grew up
streets had edges
tenements spiked the sky
concrete fangs ready to swallow us whole
I learned
I learned to bargain
for nickels and dimes
from the brothers, all vying for my attention
ready to shuck and jive me when they got it
I learned to barter
for concerts and ballgames
with old white men, in red jackets,
I can make a little look like a lot
if I fan the ones - just so
I learned to smuggle
the alcohol into the stadiums
past aging bouncers with a paunch
explaining the gallon jug
of OJ in the brown bag
Vitamin C is good for my cold, ya know
I learned to lie
tell the city cops, I didn't know
I didn't know,
I was speeding
the light was red
that u-turn illegal
I learned about life
I met the poor, the destitute,
the desperate
it made me tough
hardened my edges
I learned to sleep on the street
beg change from strangers
I helped blind Annie navigate the sidewalks
I learned how much they are just like us
I learned to
outwit the pistol wielding drunk at two am
ignore taunts hurled at me in Spanish
walk tall and purposeful down almost empty city streets
hide the bruises
I got blood on my knees
cutting my teeth on those streets
it washed down the sewer
commingled with the soured piss,
stained the McDonald's coffee cup
which hugged the curb atop a pile of paper and sand
Where I lived then
I learned the Italian ways
the Catholic ways
the good children ways
I learned the power of prayer
as Mrs. Mac prayed for me daily
I learned lessons
about life
about love gone south
of children gone sour
how a cheatin' heart can almost kill ya
I learned to feel
sorrow for the old, the poor, the helpless
joy for new life, green grass, small things
comfort and stability
I learned
hatred deep enough to kill
to hate hatred
to hate intolerance
to hate myself
I learned to spill
my insides
leave them gushing
on the page
for you
to poke and prod
and explore
with your greedy little fingers
afraid of exposing
your own dirt and
raw ugliness
now that I've offered mine
I learned not to care
what you think
It's a long way
from where I lived when I grew up
to where I live today
Where I live now
I am learning
to be a mother
to my son
By Andrea M. Young
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