Church, park, liquor store

January 18, 2026

When people ask where I’m from—
Washington, D.C. is an adult answer to a childhood life.

I’m from go-go music and row houses.
From sliding down the basement stairs on double-stacked cardboard boxes.
From social-climbing wanna-be activists.

I’m from protests that ended at dinner reservations.
From people who loved justice
as long as it didn’t cost them comfort.

I’m from black SUVs with no explanation,
and learning early
when to look—
and when not to.

From a single mother,
an absent father…
the only daughter.

I’m from a pack of Newport longs a day—
Miller High Life, Heineken.
From run to Pam’s and buy me a case of beer at ten.

I’m from bus bay, carry-out, church, park,
liquor store, liquor store,
nail salon, hair salon,
liquor store, church.

I’m from night shift.
Latchkey.
Working at fourteen.

Grab a switch from outside
when you talk out the side of your neck.

Sirens folding into summer humidity.
Sunflower seeds, Pixy Stix, and Fun Dip.
Ice-cream trucks competing with go-go
spilling from low-riding cars.

Pretending to be an astronaut,
an anthropologist,
a historian.
Climbing to the top of monuments
to feel like I could fly.

Metro doors staying open longer
to make sure we got on the bus,
because we weren’t at the stop
at our normal time.

Kids posted on corners
that weren’t dangerous—
until they were.

I’m from parks named after men
who never got to rest in them.
Elevators that smelled like bleach and weed.
Streets that changed faster
than people could afford.

Carry-out Chinese in white styrofoam.
Mumbo sauce on everything.
Chicken wings eaten on the couch,
cartons balanced on knees.
Menus with grease stains
and no website.

I’m from you better be in this house
before the streetlights come on.

I’m from screen doors watching over children
collecting lightning bugs
like they could catch the stars.

I’m from Jada the cicada lady
and caterpillar comforts.

I’m from the butter container holding greens
and the cookie tin holding needle and thread—
the same ones used to patch the hole
in my uniform skirt.

I’m from dropouts.
I’m from legends.

I’m from carrying everyone
who didn’t make it with me.