The Exchange is the Weekly’s poetry corner, where a poem or piece of writing is presented with a prompt. Readers are welcome to respond to the prompt with original poems, and pieces may be featured in the next issue of the Weekly.
can a broken piano still be played, or is this song over? by Chima “Naira” Ikoro
i thought having a nice ass would help
and it didn’t…
turns out, niggas don’t discriminate when it comes to breaking hearts
y’all fear nothing
not even the laws of gravity.
getting a woman who is both African and Christian to walk away makes moving a grand piano look like light work
but i saw my dad lift with his knees and tip the noise he called music off a balcony 34 stories up
didn’t even wait to see it hit the ground or ask her to come back inside,
he walked back into the house as soon as my mom cleared the railing.
and i’m like damn, is she flying? is she falling? is she free?
well let me try my luck anyway
and love one of you niggas.
even with the safety of not having enough years to permanently injure me if i fall
i still managed to get broken.
stood there and watched a man i’d given almost everything
take a sledgehammer and destroy whatever i had left for myself
but at least i’m still thick.
despite crying my lashes off (again)
my ass is the only guaranteed full circle moment.
always there for me to fall back on.
hurting a cute girl’s feelings should be illegal,
is it not giving, have i not given enough?
what more do you want from me?
i have stopped trying to give and instead gave up.
all niggas do is take. take their time and yours,
take too long to fix it,
you take a break and they take that shit personally,
take you for granted,
take you out for dinner and then take that as a yes,
take your trust and take your decision to withdraw it as a threat,
heart in one hand, sledge hammer in the other, pausing to see if you’ll repeat yourself.
what did i say
the first time a niggas broke me down and smoked on me?
probably nothing. i was too busy crying.
i wasn’t strong but you know what i was?
thick.
well, not yet
but in theory—
i was manifesting it, just like love
anything is possible
when you watch someone survive a fall like that
and not die.
Prompt:
“When have you found light in the remnants, or meaning in what others walked away from?”
This could be a poem, journal entry, or a stream-of-consciousness piece. Submissions could be new or formerly written pieces.
Submissions can be sent to bit.ly/ssw-exchange or via email to chima.ikoro@southsideweekly.com