(After Javon Johnson)
The moment dad’s number appeared on the telephone screen
I knew what exactly waited on the other line
We hadn’t spoken for almost three months now, but that is not the longest he’s left me alone to find my own way
I have decided this poem cannot be about my father.
I silenced my phone, turned it over on the table, and hugged my nephew when he came home from school that day
I knew that love—
If there’s anything it could do—
Love would foster his growth, the right way
Dinner time discussions meant that at some point someone would bring up the elephant in the room, or,
The elephant not in the room
Not even in the neighborhood
Or the city
Or the state
A decades-long ongoing adventure of “Where’s Waldo: Father Addition” Who was the last to speak to him? Is he still around? Is he still alive?
But this poem cannot be about abandonment.
Have you ever stopped and witnessed the aftermath of a disaster?
Love floods
Floods
Floods in from all corners of the world
Emergency responders rush in to save lives,
make sure no one is forgotten
Food is helicoptered in to make the grief more bearable
I remember, I remember how the floor trembled beneath me the moment I learned about my mother’s death
I remember, not knowing who else could help rebuild our lives if not for a black mother
And still.
A community is rebuilt, stronger,
more durable,
capable of withstanding tragedy when tragedy strikes
I did not find community in a father
I cannot help but think of all the other little girls who grew up to be women and searched for their fathers,
searched for community,
Sometimes in other men
Holding for dear life onto relationships dripping in trauma and sadness,
Searching for security somewhere
Giving
Giving
Giving and getting nothing in return
A wise woman once told me,
Love is a huge pitcher of lemonade. If you do everything to quench someone else’s thirst
you will be left with nothing for yourself
But this cannot be a poem about relationships.
No!
This poem will be about the aftermath
It will be about the little girls who turned into women
and somehow mustered the strength to stand tall, shoulders back, chin held high,
Disaster after disaster
This poem is about first responders and friends and family and therapists,
And everyone who rushed in,
to make sure we were not forgotten
And snack bar foods being helicoptered into my dorm to make the grief more bearable
How beautiful and painful it is to watch as I am being rebuilt,
stronger,
more durable,
capable of withstanding tragedy when tragedy strikes
I am so grateful that this poem is not about sadness
Instead, it is about my decision to finally heal
It was…
Lemme see, it was— middle school summers
And mom with a pitcher of lemonade for all the kids on the block. Yo
Everyone had crushes on everyone
waiting for all the kids to come home from summer school,
good and bad, just not smart enough.
It’s ok.
We had years and years ahead of us to think smart
Hiding spots!
Khalid stands in front of me, as usual,
he is taller and stronger
Says he’ll protect me
and I smile
And I think back to the tower that summer and how Disney princesses always need protecting
but none of them ain’t ever look like me!
Why do I need protecting?
I push Khalid away and I tell him
I’m gonna save myself!
and this time,
I do