Quaniyah Hardaway-Foster Poet Warrior

A Place

 

There is a place

A place with a circular fountain

downtown where stray dogs go

A place

 

A place where I walk down Calumet

To the sound of honking cars

The sound of brakes screeching

 

A place

A place where I walk past Jr’s house

To the silence because he’s no longer here

But the smell of fresh tortillas roams

through the air

A place

A place where that sandy yellow house is

Where the cats scatter across the block

Where things are unexpected

A place where Speedway is packed

Hondas, Nissans, Fords, in array of colors

 

A place

A place with Caucasians, African

Americans, Hispanics

A unknown place to humanity

 

A place…

That place…

A place I call home