First Day In a New Place
Pulling into Springfield Mo.
I helped my wife
pack a truck
To take her things
to her boyfriends house
A person I never
knew existed.
Was her new direction
On the same day before
what would have been
Our thirteenth anniversary.
I loaded a separate truck
of my desires
and made it 759 miles away
Without a break,
But I broke down
as soon as I got there
And all I could do
Was drink coffee
And eat away at myself
As no matter how many times
I tried
to turn the key
For the ignition
I couldn’t change
The results
I crawled in the back
And locked myself away
As I have always done
Exhausted
smelling like a dream
That is way beyond
It's expiration date
Knowing the road
Is my new home.
About the Creator
Abasa Aziz ibn Horace
Through his art, Harrell strives to dismantle the stereotypes that white North American media has placed on the Black individual and instead highlight Black culture and identity through Black people’s perspectives.
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We'z Walking on a Path Ruled By Numbers
This road has felt endless, yet limited; every step tracked. Inching away along this path, I feel trapped. Confined. Left to this narrow passage that may one day amount to something greater. Time is not a concept. Only distance. From start to finish, I laugh and cry and attempt to convince myself that this is worth it. I cannot stray. I must keep going. Every step etched, is a step taken, is measured as more than before. I cannot even recall how I got here. Maybe I don’t even really exist. Just another tick marking off a perceived presence. Of what though? I am just another line drawn. Nothing more, nothing less.
By Oneg In The Arcticabout 16 hours ago in Fiction
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