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Heading Downtown

Am heading downtown on the number two train. A kid enters holding a chicken bone. His mother and siblings also jump in— A sister, who is older, perhaps ten, And a brother, who is little, maybe one. The kid himself is probably seven. They board at one hundred ten. We reach ninety five street. The kid has yet to give up his fried chicken bone. He sits next to a…

Turning Point: What happens when a book is judged by its cover?

While reading ASSATA, Assata Shakur‘s autobiography, I came across the following section, and I thought it is worth sharing! I wish I could write as descriptively and piercingly as Assata does. ASSATA is an excellent book that I recommend to anyone interested in understanding the “impact of racism on a sensitive and powerful young black woman,” as reviewed by the NY Times. And the impact of this book on me…

Meeting Apollo

I met Apollo, My favorite god, Standing solo, Playing lyre, Last week— So unexpected, So unclear! I met him not in Greece, Nor did I have to go back In time to ancient Rome; I was just in Harlem, Walking down 125th street, Towards Lenox Ave, around midnight. As I passed the Apollo Theater, I saw him standing right there! I thought I was hallucinating, But, no, I wasn’t! Nor…

Ode to New York

Am I a New Yorker? Yes, sir! Yes, you are! Indeed, a New Yorker! Am I really, am I a New Yorker? No, sir, you ain’t … Maybe if you add one more year, and another, more, and one more, more, … Then, only then, you may become a New Yorker! Who’s a New Yorker? Is Woody Allen a New Yorker? Why can’t I be a New Yorker? Nah, son,…