Then It’s September. The traffic slows. The traffic slows, the Tuesday after Labor Day I am on the street at 7pm. The street is closed, there are no open shops on the block. There are no other body’s on the block. Just me and Jaz, and the homeless lady wheeling her bike ahead of…
Tag: post-apocolypse
D WATKINS: Stoop Stories. Black Baltimore.
This. These words here, THIS VOICE. I remember trying to explain, during the elections in 2004, why I didn’t consider myself represented on either side. I couldn’t articulate what seemed so blatantly clear to me that I actually grew numb, would find myself jaw-gaping–couldn’t clearly get the words to say: HOW DO YOU CALL YOURSELF…
Wild Women Wisdom 