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“morning again”

see the rain try to wash back
all that’s trapped on the street’s black top
faded days turned to nights stacked up
so high even the smoke and cries can’t rise above
but the morning comes and the children run
with their arms out wide to catch the sun
to carry the promise of tomorrow every step

“community”

the fingers massaging soil
passing generations of survival
and laughter and my story
is our story onto the generations
not even dreamed up yet
in the compost of hope
that can drink in the rain
to prove life grows everywhere
to feed life here
shared together with the story
of how life begins every day

“Mary Mack”

top teeth biting down bottom lips
on all the bright faced girls
holding down the world
on the mid-block stoop
waiting to double dutch jump
in to the response called shouts
while catching cracked sidewalk rhythms
on the bottom of their soles

“echoes”

she made promises
before the door closed
her out that the
bread would last
forever to fill them
on days when bellies
talked out of turn
and winter carried
on its own conversation
with the welcoming walls
and the loaf became
stone and the memories
of crumbs kept them close
but always empty

“fresh air”

the warped
white plastic pot
hung
by a prayer
from the twenty-seventh
story window
begging
one sunlight sliver to
bless
its desperate
midnight soil with enough
light
for life to
grow

“sugary residue”

balancing the weight of the world
on four singing wheels
stooped over crossing the avenue
the fruit cart vendor wipes the juices
of a life’s dream into a swirl
of the once white apron
wrapped around his waist
sun up to sun down
as he waits for the slim child
to chase away from him
with the last plastic cup
of pineapple speared heaven

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Matthew Daley © 2023