And when the pavement we grow up on
is a concrete spiderweb of cracks
every step we take
breaks
something
living means
ignoring that chorus of suicide
that hum like the tv
always on for comfort
to remind us that the pain
may not be forever
that we will not wonder whether
the bullets flying round the night
will hit us or our little brothers
when we are big enough
to move to places with back yards
that play/uncles/play
will not exchange us kisses
and fondles and fucks
for video games and black
mail
and our mother's kisses
may break the wall of trauma
indent our
hearts still so sealed shut
that our babies
watch us inhale death
and bleed with our eyes
and there is not enough us left
to think about what they may be seeing
is what you have already seen
and never wanted to see
but we are here
again
and still
with hungry babies
and empty breasts
trying to figure what
a step on a crack
could do to you
what it did to your mama
and why the pavement
look like a spider's web anyway.
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