another world just waiting

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studio window
This is my first memory:
A big room with heavy wooden tables that sat on a creaky
       wood floor
A line of green shades—bankers’ lights—down the center
Heavy oak chairs that were too low or maybe I was simply
       too short
              For me to sit in and read
So my first book was always big

In the foyer up four steps a semi-circle desk presided
To the left side the card catalogue
On the right newspapers draped over what looked like
       a quilt rack
Magazines face out from the wall

The welcoming smile of my librarian
The anticipation in my heart
All those books—another world—just waiting
At my fingertips.

My First Memory (of Librarians), Nikki Giovanni

AG2021_2030239aa or we take what we can

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AG2021_2030239aa

For Cheryl Boyce-Taylor and her Malik, our Phife

& I immediately think of Cheryl, her Malik, his beloved
obsession with the team’s orange & blue, a sunset sky over

this city. The ruckus of these players’ sweet grit, the desire they
have to come in first. They rebound & strip like stickup

kids. They pound the paint as if their feet were wrapped in
Timbs, their lean torsos tattered & tapered in Coogi sweaters.

This is New York. Bodega filled with the aroma of a good
chopped cheese. Ambitions racing through our minds fast as

the 2 train during rush hour. I watch the reverie on TV, as
the Garden thrashes & quakes by the tectonic plate of our

steadfast fandom. Don’t get it twisted, capitalism is dying

& yet here I am rooting for boys bred to burn out their bodies
to make billionaires more billions. Was this what Rome felt like

toward the end? When the colosseums filled with gladiators
stirred the masses into a frenzy. How the people hungered for

food & freedom, but instead lost themselves in the carnal play
of sacrifice—reliable warriors, safer to believe in than

Caesar. No matter, I think Phife would’ve loved this team,
unflappable & carefree, anti-establishment, uncompromising.

What happens to the heart of a city when its people survive
on air; that space between the flick of the wrist & the swish

of a three-point buzzer beater? We fight for a win to fill
the ache of losing: Palestine, Congo, Sudan, Ayiti. We take

what we can, celebrate small victories until we win everything
we thought we never could—

As Capitalism Gasps for Breath I Watch the Knicks Game, Yesenia Montilla