the house my father grew up in was demolished when he was a child, no older than seven, to build an expressway. the street was a tree lined parkway, designed by one of the most heralded landscape architects. proof that anything is fleeting when standing in the way of white supremacy and capitalism stands no chance.
a road we took often as a family and alone, i often found myself drifting into dreams of family reunions and funerals and house parties. written between the summer/fall of 2020, to june is a poem about survival, displacement, and the black diaspora written to my uncle, my father, and of our families, who lost their homes, safety, and community to the hands of white flight that plagued so many northern american cities from Buffalo, Detroit, Chicago, Gary, etc. exploring the vast desolation these events brought into vibrant, historically Black communities stirred up feelings of grief, hopelessness, and solidarity.
pinterest / vonko magno on flickr / troye sivan, one of your girls / virginia woolf, a letter to vanessa bell, august 1908 / @hannahlockillustration on tumblr / sara luisa kirk, begin here / fyodor dostoevsky, a letter to anna gregorevna dostoevsky, may 1880 / archbudzar on instagram / jeanette winterson, lighthousekeeping (transcript under the cut) / caitlyn siehl / @wormbus-art on tumblr / jonathan safran foer, extremely loud and incredibly close / lidia yuknavitch, the chronology of water: a memoir / sleepy.corvid on instagram / @froody on tumblr / @borderlinejackiee on tumblr / always together 2, frrrankkky_art on instagram / andsome4747 on tiktok / arthur miller, the crucible / cheryl strayed, tiny beautiful things: advice on love and life from dear sugar