Shirley Jones-Luke | Even when we didn’t have anything, we had something | Poetry Hardwood floor, stained, edges charred black years of praying, of playing, of crying Cobwebs in the windows, roaches on the walls, mice commuting between rooms, remnants of their travels cover our feet Wild cats commune in the backyard, meowing at the moon, stray dogs lurk nearby, growling, hungry for dinner The kitchen is quiet except for the steady hum of the refrigerator, loaded with government cheese, hard as a brick, giving us belly aches as we stand in the bathroom, staring at the cracked plaster, dirty tub and dingy toilet, mom was too tired to clean today, or any day A spider captures a fly in its web home, an old lamp shade, the fly’s struggles are futile, but it still struggles, so do we My lap is a desk as I write a story, a narrative of poverty my young mind seeking meaning, it’s elusive Books surround my body as the TV blares in my brother’s room our mother sings hymns from a church we no longer attend I am the center of their universe and they are the center of mine we revolve around each other like planets around a sun
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