There are rivers in the hood
after Langston Hughes
by Elani Spencer
a puddle the size of a playground,
ripples behind the Family Dollar
mosquitos skim across the surface,
empty food containers
creating makeshift boats
bobbing on the concrete shore
brown like the double dutch girls’ eyes
twinkling as her feet lift from the ground
Miss Mary Mack Mack Mack
shallow yet deep enough to drown in
if you never make it out
raccoons and hood rats
gather to drink from its harbor,
like a watering hole in Africa,
carrying it home in cupped hands
or styrofoam cups
their mother will pour it into a bath,
kick off her work shoes
& ask them to rub her feet
the corner store will bottle it,
sell it for $2.50
Made with real water! Full of electrolytes!
church folk will pray over it
praising God for curing the drought,
but not flooding our neighborhoods again
Soon it will become wine, and everyone can get drunk!
Lord knows we need it
Amen!
poets will crouch before it
and reflect,
write metaphors in the fog
seeing the change this city needs
staring back
in the coming winter months,
it will only be a sheet of ice,
but children will skate on it,
mothers will make cold presses for the sick,
the corner store will pack their freezers,
church folk will say:
The fires of hell hasn’t reached us yet!
the hood will always make do
with what we got
Muse Mosaics 