2012
It is not the singing of birds that wake me up,
but the sound of heavy feet running up and down the sidewalk.
The sound of high-pitch puberty voices laughing and West Indian accents scolding youth that rings loudly like an alarm-clock to my ears.
I was raised on a wide and long one-way block with luscious trees that expanded
but grew small as my legs extended effortlessly,
playing jump-rope and scavenger hunt.
I knew every infrastructure and the condiments that lived on either side.
but the sound of heavy feet running up and down the sidewalk.
The sound of high-pitch puberty voices laughing and West Indian accents scolding youth that rings loudly like an alarm-clock to my ears.
I was raised on a wide and long one-way block with luscious trees that expanded
but grew small as my legs extended effortlessly,
playing jump-rope and scavenger hunt.
I knew every infrastructure and the condiments that lived on either side.
I knew and still do, each condiment by name, age, and interest.
My block doesn't utilize the word neighbor, too century for that.
Though in intimate ways, it smears the word family on the surface of every block party,
of every late night conversation,
of every planned or unplanned event,
of every heartfelt laughter, of every butt spent hanging on the porch,
of every time we mobbed to fast-food chains at 12 am or to Kings Plaza,
of every stupid fight we had because someone was being "fake".
On my block we call our elders aunties instead of misses.
My fam, always more boys than girls has influenced my being in numerous ways like a habitat influences a creatures' ability to live in it.
I've learned the beginning stages of the male species, of my love to dance,
my first dance with a boy, how babies were really made,
how to leave a place you call home and welcome another one into your arms, how to like, how to love, and how to never let your best friend read your diary.
How lucky I was and still am to grow on a block where my first human bonds were my only bonds. Never have I been ashamed of my block for it's name was branded on the forehead of my arm that proclaimed the memories of my youth, the eternity of close-aged friendship.
Glendale court, G court because for a time we didn't believe our block was hood enough,
never seemed to fail me as I got older.
I realized the familiar gang: Patrick, Steven, Hakim, Nick, Yahri, Kenan,
Bianca, Alexis, Christesia, Amber were striding different avenues,
neglecting the notion that we would grossly change, but we still remained familiar.
In our descriptive love/hate relationship we tighten and loosened
our bonds when we sought necessary.
Now, blessed that I don't have to face the adult world alone,
I have my irreplaceable crew, since the bottom in our mothers bellies,
we are climbing our way to the future in our college-driven lives.
This black pavement on my one-way street breeds the kind of community
where cohorts of generations of youth are born and stay together.
Where each individual adds their special sauce to the pot and mix it together,
where support is there and where overlays on birthdays oddly confirm our time,
our existence was meant to be.
My heart smiles for my block and prays for its peace and joy.
Many of my friends marvel at the chemistry it took to produce a block like this
and always feel welcome when on it.
There is more of us than the gang I mentioned, more who add beauty to the pavement.
#Gcourtnow, #Gcourtalways. #Iloveyoufam
-Arnelle W.
My block doesn't utilize the word neighbor, too century for that.
Though in intimate ways, it smears the word family on the surface of every block party,
of every late night conversation,
of every planned or unplanned event,
of every heartfelt laughter, of every butt spent hanging on the porch,
of every time we mobbed to fast-food chains at 12 am or to Kings Plaza,
of every stupid fight we had because someone was being "fake".
On my block we call our elders aunties instead of misses.
My fam, always more boys than girls has influenced my being in numerous ways like a habitat influences a creatures' ability to live in it.
I've learned the beginning stages of the male species, of my love to dance,
my first dance with a boy, how babies were really made,
how to leave a place you call home and welcome another one into your arms, how to like, how to love, and how to never let your best friend read your diary.
How lucky I was and still am to grow on a block where my first human bonds were my only bonds. Never have I been ashamed of my block for it's name was branded on the forehead of my arm that proclaimed the memories of my youth, the eternity of close-aged friendship.
Glendale court, G court because for a time we didn't believe our block was hood enough,
never seemed to fail me as I got older.
I realized the familiar gang: Patrick, Steven, Hakim, Nick, Yahri, Kenan,
Bianca, Alexis, Christesia, Amber were striding different avenues,
neglecting the notion that we would grossly change, but we still remained familiar.
In our descriptive love/hate relationship we tighten and loosened
our bonds when we sought necessary.
Now, blessed that I don't have to face the adult world alone,
I have my irreplaceable crew, since the bottom in our mothers bellies,
we are climbing our way to the future in our college-driven lives.
This black pavement on my one-way street breeds the kind of community
where cohorts of generations of youth are born and stay together.
Where each individual adds their special sauce to the pot and mix it together,
where support is there and where overlays on birthdays oddly confirm our time,
our existence was meant to be.
My heart smiles for my block and prays for its peace and joy.
Many of my friends marvel at the chemistry it took to produce a block like this
and always feel welcome when on it.
There is more of us than the gang I mentioned, more who add beauty to the pavement.
#Gcourtnow, #Gcourtalways. #Iloveyoufam
-Arnelle W.
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