Page 40 - TheBridge_Vol16

DRINKING LIGHTNING

FROM A BOTTLE

Dajuan Frasier

I’m starting to suppose I’m not feeling how I’m supposed to,
as opposed to: unfettered wings, these clips is constant
and I’m walking with a chip on my shoulder and a demon on my back
and the Tony in my throat don’t ever say jack.
He doesn’t ever do himself any favors, impart words of wisdom.
Create bright ideas like capturing lightning in a bottle.
I drink the lightning from the bottle
and my mouth turns to glass
because my tongue is made of sand
and the blisters in my head lead to the hole in me
where my fingernails get dirty from digging for my soul
sifting through castles of dirt.
I wonder if I’m reaping something
something I don’t know about
sown somewhere I’ve never been to
at the places I’m always too anxious to go.
South Carolina where my father stays
Ruggles Street where I find my aunt
anywhere else where there are too many people.
I want to be happy, but I’m always angry and I can’t let them catch me
because they’ll hold me down and call me crazy, like they called me
dumb, called me boy, called me sad boy, called me nigger.
I used to smile hard before that, mouth wide open,
Uncle Sam’s sambo smile like it was a competition
like I’d win a prize when the pictures were printed out.
Before I was ever asked if I felt worthy

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28 | The Bridge