Berwyn Battles

I must apologize one more for my lack of posting. My only alibis are two words: COLLEGE APPLICATIONS! Haha but they are not all bad. They are requiring me to look deep within myself and analyze myself critically so for that, I thank all of the Universities. Way back in 2014, I submitted a piece to a writing contest sponsored by the American Writers Museum. More info can be found here. Writers such as Gwendolyn Brooks, Lorraine Hansberry, Studs Terkel, and Richard Wright all used their own unique life experiences and neighborhoods as the backdrops for their literary works. The contest, in turn, wanted to give students a venue to craft poems, essays, and fiction based on their neighborhoods. I submitted a piece entitled Berwyn Battles. I was confident and proud of my piece, but also knew that there were a lot of other great student writers in Chicago who came from much more interesting neighborhoods than my own (relatively speaking). In short, I was not expecting to win. This contest served as a way for me to continue my "musings." Yet on January 19th, 2015, I received an email and confirmation stating that my piece had won the Special Rutledge 2015 Award and that it would be published The Great Lakes Review, a prolific writing magazine! I was (and still am!) so elated and ecstatic! Finally, just a week or two ago, the hard copy of the magazine came in! 

The Front Cover!

I would like to thank the American Writers Museum as well as the Rutledge Writing Contest for this tremendous honor. Please support both groups by purchasing copies of the magazine here. My poem that I submitted is below. My inspiration for this piece can be found here (where I am quoted!). 



“This is Berwyn.”
Shot fired, feet racing, arms pounding, eyes raising
“Doors open on the right at Berwyn.”
Ready….Set….Go!

The hinges of the door crepitate like broken legs
The traveler, previously glued to his 16G screen of light, transforms into an Olympic athlete and leaps off the worn iron cage
Racing down Spaulding Street to get to his home, his feet stomp the ground with apprehension, hoping to reach the finish line before night falls
Emerald blades fall from the towering bodies of bark and tickle his loosely tied Jordan Retro 99’s 
Salty perspiration drips from his face and falls on to the scarred ground
His tongue screeches for water after the first checkpoint, but he pounds his thirst to submission
Eyes locked in like a lion upon its prey, his sights are on the prize:
A home of comfort, and a life of privilege 
A warm meal, and an overflowing fridge
Yet a life of this kind comes at a cost
Requiring to sap life out of those who have lost
For while he runs for the gold, he sees those who have been disqualified from the competition
Images flash across his mind of what resides in South side of the track
He sees those whose legs have been broken by the yoke of injustice
Those strategically sprawled along the field, their faces tuned to the perfect sound of hunger and hopelessness
They were once golden like him, yet have fallen victim to temptation, debt, and homelessness
Their sins rust their pristine and shine
Their decaying composition giving them an unfavorable disposition in the eyes of the privileged
But he has the chance to break the trance of subtle submission
To make it his mission to aid the poor and destitute and not turn the other cheek
To stand up tall rather than be meek

Yet he keeps on running…
Feet sinking into the steps of those before him, not breaking new ground

He slows to a sprint as he surveys the area before him
The track becomes more familiar, as the rocky pavement revamps into a silky pasture of sod and earth
Wiping the sweat from his brow, he vaults over the last moral hurdle: a misshapen and amorphous frame of a figure holding a cup, hoping for change
The athlete breathes a sigh of relief, letting the cool air caress his face
As he examines what he calls home…

The apartment complexes stack together tightly like teeth after they have been fixed by braces
Each one balancing windows, doors, and secret entrances like a towering fortress of Jenga blocks
Weeds permeate the coarse grass, segregating the dandelion majority from the daisy minority
Each plant must fight for a share of rain and ground
Streaks of grey, red, black, and white all line up without a sound
Lying dormant and sardonically mocking those who have no parking
But the serene peace is shattered by deafening barking
Emerging from the lips of battle-worn canines, their snouts looking for blood and their teeth ready for war
But they shift into famished hounds, drawn to the aura of food
Other runners waving hi, attempting to burn off the chunks of Jimmy Johns, Philly Steaks, and McDonalds that cling to them like a fishing hooks
The owners of restaurants are filled to the brim with grease and “fresh ingredients” and who keep the heavenly smells confined to their buildings, not wanting to attract the rusted folk
The shriek of cicadas fill the air while squirrel, raccoon, possum, and rabbit scurry about
Smoke and gasoline permeate the air, sapping out any substance of cleanliness

Yet the runner breathes it all in and drinks up the world he sees
Feeling hydrated by comfort and invigorated by bliss
Yet his head spins with injustice as the leeches of sympathy latch to him
Sucking out the scales that cover his eyes and the melting the heart of stone
For though he has crossed the finish line, there are those who were left in the dust
Those who did not have the experience of safety
His condemnation turns into a tone of humiliation
And gives up the gold and his life of comfort, to help the fallen