Brooklyn

Buildings of brick
Stick in my memory
The formation of my earliest memories
Consist of glass, gun, ash, and snow
Glass
Guns
Ash
Snow
Raising children aint easy
Especially in a city in the 90s
My mother got punched in the face on the street
Because she couldn't speak English
And gave off the "wrong" expression,
Inviting a blow to the face
And a final blow to the city of my birth, New York City, borough of Brooklyn

It's funny when stories turn to suffering
Words to pain
Knowledge to tears
When what was normalized and adjusted to causes great tension
And pain
Well, I've woken up that things are not normal anymore
And now I have to cope
Years later