He stood still
at the front of the line
but backed away at my entrance.
My southern self could smell his
request, for a few minutes of a gentle listen.
"I am not waiting to be helped"
he said.
He gently pulled his hat off his graying head
"You see,
I haven't been back to this neighboorhood
since I was a child. This use to be my favorite
place to come and be rowdy.
Now, This neighboorhood used to be a lot different you know,
You see that shop over here, belonged to Mr. So & So.
Now white folks, drinking coffee
Where the AME church burned down
And there is a bar
above the burial ground.
It's been a real long time,
30 years to be exact.
This is the only business, that remains intact.
His sugary sweet eyes
glided across the freshly waxed floor
"Nothing around here is the same anymore."
Inspired by a conversation I had with a man in the U.S. Postal Office in North Philadephia.
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Womanchild, .know.love.be. Thyself.
- z.bediako
- a womanchild in a land where nothing is promised. my belly births a bundle of sounds. words live inside my head. sometimes they stay there for years. aching to marinate. i await for spices to calm them. saturate them. give them life.taste.rhythm. i share it through sound.words. i write lovepoems & politicalprose. i stay singing. i'm often laughing. and always loving.
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