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Touch

[By Johnny] This guy mashed my face in with his elbow When we were playing basketball. Old cornfed, elbow-swinging suckah. I had to get four stitches At the time all I could think was How my lip somehow felt Bigger than my whole mouth puth together And I mopped the bloody chasm, And Cornfed followed me Apologizing, and I nodded, and Didn’t really try to smile as I Asked the properly concerned Rec attendants for ice. Old cornfed, elbow-swingin suckah. The Doc, she said I could get stitches Or not. I said lemme have it, I ain’t had Stitches for a while. I lay down.  Doc adjusted the light with handles. The nurse slid this white sheet over my face That had a hole innit around my jutting mouth. The nurse was older. A wide-eyed and tender wisp of bones. She didn’t chew her lip except maybe in her mind, And she covered my hand with hers, leaf light, For three seconds. I stared into blind whiteness. The Doc gave me the needle. Then I felt the numb tuggi
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Rent

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[By Johnny] My life feels like pants That are ten sizes too big And I am awkward and Stumbling. Like if a child dressed up In Daddy’s clothes And you laughed. Then stopped laughing And told him in all seriousness, "Go get a job and pay rent." And rent’s due And here I am 7 years old And bone dry Swimming in pants I can’t even walk in.  20 page paper due And I don’t even speak English. Dance recital And both legs broke. You know the feeling? That’s a hard one for me. Being thin air. Being dust. When someone spills their Guts to me about their pain And problems And my choice in that moment Is to either say something trite And empty as a paper bag Blowing down the street, Or say nothing at all. You know the feeling? And thank God. For rent due that exceeds My checking account. For pants that are way Too big. That there are things so high, Only my screams can reach. Because high means There's such a thing
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Jars of Fireflies

[Johnny] I tell my daughter I will always love her And she closes up her eyes And smiles into my promise And burrows down and grins Nestled tight around the joy Inside her tiny little chest, And I around the joy in mine, And for just a tiny notch in time We are shiny bottles full of fireflies Upon a picnic table laid Beneath a deep and starry sky In July, on a night as warm and wide And full as bellies after dinnertime. She says she wants To be together in heaven. And I tell her I think we will be. 
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Reconciling Contradictions: A Biracial Perspective on Racism

[Sarah] One of the most important things my father ever taught me about race came when I was choosing a college. I am mixed. My mother is white and my father is black. I have lived most of my life in mostly white communities and suffered sometimes for being too white and sometimes too black and I was tired. I felt so out of place and was concerned mostly with this issue as I was looking at the colleges around me. When I asked him, in tears, why he chose to live and work in a non-diverse community, he shared this: He told me that when he made decisions or even thought about himself as a person, it was first as a child of God. He was indeed a black man, but that was only a piece of his identity. He was first a Christian, and this was the prominent place from which all his decisions were made. He was next a husband, and a father, and a black man; but being black was not the primary or singular way that he defined himself or made his decisions.  That piece of advice allowed me to
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New Adventures

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[Johnny] My wife and I decided to start a blog. My wife, with brown eyes and brown skin And laughter like mountains. I would know her laugh In a room of a thousand women. The way she throws her head back, Slaps her knee And cries her mirth. Sometimes she laughs so hard I am afraid she's going to Cough her heart up onto the floor. I mean, but not in a dead way though. We are both identically biracial. Dads black as roots in earth. Moms white as Christmas. When you are mixed race You learn at some point That it's a thing. And then the world begins It's pulling you in half Like a wishbone To see which side Gets the bigger chunk. But I digress. We are in our forties. We have lots and lots of kids. Miles of kids. OK, four of them. Isaiah (21), Eliya (9), Jadon (7), and Amara (5). My wife and I decided To write a blog. We thought we might Have something to say. Something to offer In the midst of all This brokenness
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