These poems are published here connected to the partnership between the Mid-Atlantic Review and Howard University and a recent event for the Howard community.
It took too long to say wrong
What’s right, what’s ? ?
I forgot my bag—my bad
I didn’t forget; I just figured it would tear
Anyway
But it dragged along my heels, desperately moaning
it, too, possessed baggage
I like kicking rocks and relay races
they’re both ways I make my exit
‘cept one ends where I started
I fell forward once—gracefully,
and somersaulted towards my hat
It held like a bucket
It was a bucket
steadily collecting raindrops
But just like my hair
It, too, was my rite of passage
The pen writes the rest
Took me too long to say
wro.
wrong
Now I just don’t believe in it anymore
Mass Media
Eat more chicken on the moon?
I heard if you pinch it in the sky, milk will free to feed the stars
Savage bees have been on my mind lately
Twisted telephone poles ring my thoughts
They were stuck in space after I watched the Twilight Zone
My couch clicked like 6-inch heels as it spun around the front room
Over and over I began to dream in circles, everything was sidelined
and both the present and future were left in the dirt
I even got caught in the rain but I wasn’t taught to use the umbrella at my academy
Instead, they pierced holes in my poncho
Said I wasn’t the natural selection
Well I never wanted to be “tall, dark, and handsome”
They don’t even use that right
I never wanted blue eyes
And I never wanted to wear an “s” across my chest
it stands for sucka
They don’t ever run nothing
If ratatouille could line dance zucchini would flex across oceans
Over here anything colored is a vermin
This ain’t no melting pot
It’s hell’s kitchen and they kill “rats”
Well not the “good” ones
They called hamsters
And get a cage, a little litter, and a big ole wheel
so they can do all their tricks
Free Fluffy and his backways mindset
Seem he don’t no any better
But some do
The money bag man has always been the boss, baby
You didn’t know?
He acted like he invented the steps from crawlin to walkin
walkin to runnin
runnin to ridin
ridin to rowin
sailing all way to the not-so-new world
trans-lantic supercharged his journey
Protruding like a yellowjacket amongst hornets
Always doing their dirty down under
Even the slightest foottracking set their anger to thunder
because of all that crunching on hallow crusted cushions
Almost like they had been there before
Certainly, like they decided it’d be forever
if you check the bookshelf that’s what it’d say
60 minutes to 60 seconds and dinner tables don’t exist
Instead, white Jesus does delivery
a two for 10 and don’t nobody do carry-out
Drive up, drive in, pull off
Hot and ready but folks still hungry
Said they had a mission but it skips their own city
Just fishy missiles sucked by their own decisions
That honed on liberty abandoned like its land
Always the lady that must be burdened by man’s lies
Ain’t nothin left to point to
So I just watch the river carry the dirt
Kitchen Creepin’
Shh, or they will hear!
The sound that pounds profusely
all through, head to toe.
Speed not on speed dial
Black dots and spots perform tricks
Barren pits of death!
Too loose tiles cradle
clefts dirtied with sediments
and a tasteless tan
Slow to see and search
Even with eyes of the night
Sappy dough circles
dark, duped by small tumble crumbs
Sculpted by what’s left behind
Day is almost here
Be now if ever a time
To trace the frigid way,
back to the covered corner
When will this wicked race end?
Jada Carter is a junior studying education and legal communications at Howard University and is from Memphis, Tennessee. Carter’s passions are rooted in serving the community, education, and emphasizing the importance of social justice and access within education. She is on the journey of becoming an educator, author, and attorney.
Featured image this post is, “Bees with Honeycomb MET DP-401-001” by Candace Wheeler, licensed via creative commons, Wikimedia Commons.
