The Art In Never Seeing You Again
Grief is a state of being.
It comes when it comes
and it leaves gradually.
It isn’t poetic;
it isn’t magic.
It is an unexplainable truth that is told by one,
to one,
with no remorse.
With no dictation.
Grief just is.
But the art in never seeing you again
is boundless.
Dreams across horizons of orange and red,
in deepening pools of blue overhead,
and the smell of swollen summer window panes
can bring back the dead and all his remains.
What lavish thoughts of heaven’s unknown
make wispy wishes that you’ll come home.
By Jessica Reed
On the city's west side,
Summer scents of blackened charcoal watered my mouth in hunger for hot dogs perfectly grilled, burnt on top.
My stomach danced to Mr. Softy’s childish jukebox,
kids on my block hustled for $1 passports to ice cream dreams.
Nothing stung like the buzz of the ice cream truck
passing us up ‘cause our shouts were unheard, hands waving into fading hopes,
rising again
when the next truck came...
By La'Shante “Shaunie” Grigsby
...I'll take the good, bad & the ugly
The cold nights under the fire
No lights but that didn't matter
It was the calm and the storm
The love from your child un-torn
It will forever remain the same
It is embedded into my soul that itches to learn of every story untold
Forever and always, I remain Detroit
by Chani The Hippie
Oscar Grant was on his way home.
Mike Brown was in front of his home.
Aiyana Jones was in her home.
Why aren't we safe in our homes?
by Heaven Harrell
A woman, beautiful in every way but what happens when that beauty is taken away? Forced into the darkness, her smile, once as bright as a sun’s ray on a summer day, is dimmed, why? Is it because she dressed a certain way? Were her jeans too tight, did her dress fit her body just right? Does that justify what he did that night?
By Rosie DeSantis
Kofi & Lauren & Louie & me
(Aaron too),
we found the hatch up to the roof
during recess, said
today, now on,
everything gotta be different...