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The Negro Speaks of Dryland
by Chima āNairaā Ikoro
After The Negro Speaks of Rivers by Langston Hughes
Iāve known vacant lots:
Iāve known vacant lots ancient as gang signs and older than āIāll bring your bike back, I promise.ā
My soul has grown gardens by force
like the vacant lots.
I drank from hoses when my dawgs were young.
I built my friendships near train tracks, the same ones that lulled me to sleep.
I looked upon my homies and imagined Us growing old on this side of Earth.
I heard singing at funerals when some didnāt make it, and Iāve seen
pall bearers without a single gray hair.
Iāve known vacant lots:
Ancient, unpredictable vacant lots.
My soul has grown gardens like the vacant lots.
Chima Ikoro is the community organizing editor for the Weekly. She last wrote aboutĀ Juneteenth becoming a recognized federal holiday.
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Prompt:Ā āHow have the āpowers that beā failed the person next to you?ā
āWhat do you know about the grief that growth causes and the growth that grief causes?ā
This could be a poem, a stream-of-consciousness piece, or a short story.
Submissions can be sent to bit.ly/ssw-exchange or via email to chima.ikoro@southsideweekly.com.
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Featured below is a reader response to a previous prompt. The last poem and prompt can be found here.
Power!
By China Smith
I wonder who coined this term
I think they confused it with force
They wave their hands and make us bow down
I thought power was effortlessā¦
Here we are, confined
And they dangle the keys in front of our faces
I think they confused it with the devilā¦
White man, you meanie!
Donāt you know that brute force is nothing to real power?
And while we havenāt all United itās because weāre picking up the pieces
Itās because you set an ongoing booby-trap
So now half of us still canāt read
Itās because we still fighting for benches
And painting white fences Black
And youāre the mad scientist watching it happen
Watching us scramble for the scraps
And you profit off of our backs
Iām not a person, Iām a number
Someone in the IRSās check
A check off the checklist
Sometimes this feels like some sick game that we were born to play
Now Iām chained to my bed figuring out how to make bread
You breadcrumb us and dumb us down
Now we numb, but you curse your own tongue
That aināt power! Thatās pitiful!
My freedom shouldnāt be political
I think you confused it with propaganda
Itās right when your system doesnāt suffice
But itās wrong when we stand up?
Itās right that when your officer shines their light
We put our hands up?
And I know you canāt understand usĀ
But we understand you
Let us pull back the veil and show Americaās truth.
China Smith is an artist and activist from Englewood. You can find them on Instagram and Twitter!