© “Giants on Grand River – Detroit, MI”
The space is never filled enough
no matter how fast/slow we drive this stretch of street
the spaces don’t make it okay to
create shapes that fit only some
sometimes I don’t want to be the one
who makes sense out of nonsense
this stretch of street from the center to its northwestern border is a mural
an understanding exists but blatant disregard for the truth blocks out sun
keeps the darkened narrative present
presently, I’m riding this stretch of the avenue with you and you… aren’t looking
I can’t define what it makes me think: riding in silence with you passing these giants
body language creates hurtful lapses
lapses I can’t make-up for, though I try
lapses I can’t rewrite, though I write what
I can to make sense of the senseless and it’s
senseless you didn’t see the same mural I did barely two miles ago
you speak, finally, and ask me what I wanted to be growing up
(I wanted to be a fireman but never could see beyond the dreams I forget)
Forget that there has always been a tomorrow
for someone, somewhere. This stretch of road we are driving wasn’t
always paved and there isn’t always a way to move backward in forward spaces
In this compact space on wheels where we entertain silence and noises found
along this streetscape, we didn’t count the number of ways routes ended
when other drivers turned off onto east/west moving streets
we didn’t think of the meeting between “candor” and “mortality” and
with barely a mile left before we hit the city limits into somewhere else
the silence became exclamations to indescribable planes that break storylines
making them emotionally charged ballads where this avenue’s blank areas
magnified the silence
Years later, you ask about this picture that I can tell you exactly when it was taken,
where we were; even describe the deafening silence from the start of our journey
and throughout. The murals are still there despite your argument that I may be
making this all up
You will look away, even then, as if I was looking for an argument when what I wanted
was to know that humans sometimes falter when seeing over before the ride ended
and the things we carried got dropped off; buried.
H. Walker, 3-26-2020
BEING 40 SOMETHING 