by Michael Dees
On a hot summer afternoon, after a day of playing in the sun but before retiring to play video games, my mother would always shower. She loved spending time with us on those rare free days when all five of her girls were home, and she wasn’t working one of many jobs she held down simultaneously to provide. Our job was to set the living room up, since she didn’t understand and wasn’t willing to learn how to work the equipment. She would emerge in a puff of steam and a waft of perfume. Unwilling to wear shorts outside, those days she was even willing to don a light summer nightdress. We each peeled off at different times in the night, smart enough and independent enough to dictate our own bedtimes. With a yawn, I’d announce my departure. My mother was never short on hugs, pulling me in and holding me, understanding of the importance of that contact. Rich vanilla and rose and a creamy, heavy shea butter: the last things I’d smell for the night.
When riffling through the cabinet before moving out, I discovered the exact lotion she would use. Her ‘yes’ when I asked to take it was distracted, unaware of the significance. Although, I don’t use it much.
Second grade was hard enough
The seconds turn into hours
Screens turn to staff as
Students turn their screens on and off
Teaching students slipping out of their chairs at home
Teaches us what we thought we already learned
Too raw is the view into the houses of inner-city youth
Exposed to their reality; my past too.
When the day is over, we rub our burning eyes
We say it is easy when we are pioneers
Fighting our exhaustion and creeping mental instability
Has us fighting our love for our career.
i love discovering the hidden gems in my city!