"On the surface"
On the surface lines drawn
Define, divide, enclose, the now
This is my neighborhood
But how does this connect or separate us?
Each street dug into layers of time
Each road exposing the past, slicing up the future
This dirt holds the tears and bones
of our sisters and brothers
and with each new intersection old spirits are excavated
I hear their songs in pieces – I dare you to listen
All the while more layers lay down their bodies, bodies atop bodies, atop bodies, atop bodies
As you are re-routed through this city
apparitions iridescent swirl like gasoline in water
a collision of dreams in the wreckage of a collapsed over-pass
Each moment captured in the placement of a crossed road
Hopewell Indians meets Grand River.
12th street and Clairmont
Five days of riots
MLK meets Rosa Parks
I walk these streets
I turn on myself, claw at this chest, siphon courage, dig valleys, reveal my layers...
But I reject containment, I am in constant motion, I refuse to be defined solely by place
I am a work in progress, I cannot be still, I am a story with no beginning, a beat that reverberates, a page with no edges.
I was the only white kid on my block growing up, my friends put corn rolls in my hair and taught my how to reebok.
I feel my grandmother's Appalachian song in my throat, I breath mountains, hear the pines, I taste the tobacco fields in my lungs. I am a map, my body holds the key...