Mrs. Acquadro

Mrs. Acquadro made me pour out my coffee

We stood there after my third period class

watching the richness of its browness

Yanked down the insatiable ivory drain

My back, a straining rubber tree, bent away from her

She lectured me on why it still counted as stealing

Even though it was free during lunch.

Of course, It’s not stealing if you’re white

In that case its mercantilism

Or manifest destiny

But I do wonder how she knew.

New Orleans

New Orleans
by Sarah Stewart

If I were white
I’d be a writer
Move to Vermont
Live in a heap of regenerating manuscripts
In a tiny attic apartment
Chain smoking clove cigarettes.

It’s unforgivably different
Being black and poor
They’ll leave you there
Tucked under brown water at the bottom of a fish bowl
In a decayed house
With ‘1 found’ sprayed on the door.

I AM JEAN LEE

So my laptop died this week and I lost about 3 years worth of poems that I've written (though not really considering I didn't write anything for about two years). Jean Lee suggested that I start a blog for my poems (like her!) so maybe next time I wont lose everything I've ever written :-(. Enjoy. Or don't. It's up to you.