Claire Doty

IN DEBT, IN TRUST

Still tired from our sore walks down our favorite avenue in Biloxi curving in and out of pathways dripping in bloody blues.

Preachers prescribe new and old remedies stuck in the toothpicks used to pick out lies of his loosely strung teeth

maybe tomorrow will be easier maybe it won't.

I hope this letter gets to you soon to remind you of the hand slowly breathing right here right next to you in the morning if this hits your mailbox know that I'11be back home soon.

If I get lost yet again, itd be swell if you could give me directions a suggestion or two and if you need to carry me back it probably won't happen, but your arm may be some nice support that I could've used long ago a drop or four may fall in between our legs I hope that's okay slowly I may scramble out of my grumbles and pick up my stick and my rope tying together my straightforward thoughts I might just be on my way again. Either way I can look forward to you and I

and our eyes

Still tired from our sore walks down our favorite avenue in Biloxi curving in and out of pathways dripping in bloody blues.

-Claire Doty

-PatriciaWitt

JUST SOMETIMES

Sometimeslwishlcould

Blend my skin and no longer have the evidence Of tainted ink.

Sometimes I wish my sinful eyes could be beautiful My polluted lips be desirable My dirtied skin be cleansed.

Sometimes I imagine myself without stain My life has no limitations because of bigotry I don't feel embarrassment for an unholy minority

Sometimes I want to change the image of my existence, Reform myself to match the rest of the puzzle Twist and rotate myself to fit the bigger picture.

Sometimes it feels that being African supersedes being half American; Pale faces don't understand how my life can be They think of me as a mystery - a question to be solved and forgotten.

Sometimes I'm angry with my Father. He made us defective, burned us with sin; Created us of ignorance and others of arrogance

Sometimes I cry at night, before my mother comes to bed, Before she holds me and lets me know it doesn't matter to everyone, Just the people who want to feel strength through weakness.

Sometimes I see the almond shape of my eyes And the pouted slope of my lips And I feel love.

Sometimes I listen to the whisper in my voice And watch the curve of my cheek And I taste beauty build on the back of my tongue like Sweet bile, a delicious illness.

I am an African American teenager, Born of toasted mystery, secrets of innocence and Love hidden in the depths of my caramel complexion so

Sometimeslwishlcould

Share our secret and revel in supposed unity With those who can't understand my complexity.

But that's just sometimes

-Aliana Barnette-Dear

I -i

,i T

-Gabe Matesanz