Kewayne Wadley Poet Free verse

The Pit

A young black boy stands at the border of a dream and reality.
In his hand he holds a peach, half orange, half red.
The kind that tastes sweet when you bite into it.
The kind that punctures and bleeds if you hold it too tight.

At times, it reminds him of home. Other times.
The darker side of what he sees when he steps outside,
laws, invisible borders, even police that don’t remember his name,
but remember what he looks like. The color of his skin.

He takes a bite of his peach. Its juice fills his mouth.
Some runs down to his shirt. Sweet as the parts of freedom
that we were promised to have but not allowed to taste.

As he stands outside his house,
he remembers what his father used to tell him.
“Take your time and savor every moment. Don’t eat until you’re completely full.”

Just enough satisfies your hunger.

He takes another bite, sitting on the front porch.
He sees the police ride past him,
eyeing him until they were out of sight.
He takes another bite, seeing the world as a giant prayer
begging to be answered.

A man walks down the street 
covering his mouth as he coughs.
The rest of the neighborhood kids play down at the other end of the street.
After he finishes his peach, he rolls the pit of the peach around his mouth,
savoring the rest of the juice trapped inside.

He knows that some promises aren’t meant to be broken.
But just like his peach,
there is no border between being small and fragile
neither is there between when the sun rises and when it falls.

The police ride past him again,
this time asking him where he lives.
The pit sours in his mouth.

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