- Neighborhood Watch
Scene: On the South Side of Chicago, in a basement bedroom,a young girl dresses herself in the mirror
She puts her bra on head firstwrestles cotton triangles speckled
with polka dots across her flat chestrubs Teen Spirit in her hairless pits
steps into panties with blue lettersspelling Wednesday
today, she puts on new clothes, a giftfrom the man who drives the fancy car
slicks back her hair, wraps a whitea red a blue scrunchy round strands
in a twisted knot, turns ruby studsin circles, loosens crust gathered in the lobe
rolls cherry Lip Smacker counterclockwiseher mouth mimics the mouth of a fish
strokes gold glitter on nails no biggerthan quarters of moon, one hand neat
the other unsteady, sparkles spill outsidethe lines, outside the horn is blowing [End Page 27]
she almost bites the white tipsinhales the chemical smell
exhales and counts backwardfrom three, Mississippi . . .
cool breath blown cross fingersthe man in the fancy car blows harder
two, Mississippi . . .
she shoves her feet into a pairof chunk black Mary Janes
knees turn Jell-O, fingers turn trembleglitter twinkles like wet light collapsing
inside her palms folding to fists one, Mississippi . . . [End Page 28]
April Gibson is a poet and essayist whose work is published in PANK, Water-Stone, Literary Mama and elsewhere. She is completing a poetry collection exploring performance, politics, and Black womanhood.