Letter to Brooks [Spring Garden]

Major Jackson

When you have forgotten (to bring into
   Play that fragrant morsel of rhetoric,
Crisp as autumnal air), when you
   Have forgotten, say, sun-lit corners, brick
   Full of skyline, rowhomes, smokestacks,
Billboards, littered rooftops & wondered
What bread wrappers reflect of our hunger,
When you have forgotten wide-brimmed hats,
   Sunday back-seat leather rides & church,
The doorlock like a silver cane, the broad backs
   Swaying or the great moan deep churning,
   & the shimmer flick of flat sticks, the lurch
Forward, skip, hands up Ailey-esque drop,
When you have forgotten the meaningful bop,
Hustlers and their care-what-may, blasé
   Ballet and flight, when you have forgotten
Scruffy yards, miniature escapes, the way   
   Laundry lines strung up sag like shortened
   Smiles, when you have forgotten the Fish Man
Barking his catch in inches up the street
"I've got porgies. I've got trout. Feeesh
Man," or his scoop and chain scale,
   His belief in shad and amberjack; when
You have forgotten Ajax and tin pails,
   Blue crystals frothing on marble front
   Steps Saturday mornings, or the garden
Of old men playing checkers, the curbs
White-washed like two lines out to the burbs,
Or the hopscotch squares painted new
   In the street, the pitter-patter of feet
Landing on rhymes. "How do you
   Like the weather, girls? All in together girls,
   January, February, March, April... "
The jump ropes' portentous looming,
Their great, aching love blooming.
When you have forgotten packs of grape
   Flavored Now & Laters, the squares
Of sugar flattening on the tongue, the elation
   You felt reaching into the corner-store jar,
   Grasping a handful of Blow Pops, candy bars
With names you didn't recognize but came
To learn. All the turf battles. All the war games.
When you have forgotten popsicle stick
   Races along the curb and hydrant fights,
Then, retrieve this letter from your stack
   I've sent by clairvoyant post & read by light.
   For it brought me as much longing and delight.
This week's Father's Day; I've a long ride to Philly.
I'll give this to Gramps, then head to Black Lily.
From Hoops, published by W. W. Norton & Company. Copyright © 2006 by Major Jackson. Used with permission.

Poems by This Author

Designer Kisses by Major Jackson
I'm glum about your sportive flesh in the empire of blab
Migration by Major Jackson
On Disappearing by Major Jackson
I have not disappeared.
Picket Monsters by Major Jackson

Further Reading

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