artwork by Marissa Angel
Where the river meets the ocean
A point of convergence
Collision of the fluid kind
Turbulent
Where reflection is muddled
And the spirit murky
These are all questions.
How beautiful you are despite.
How beautiful you are
Bugs cling to cracks in hardwood floors
Bathtub rings mingle for 4 scores
Dust swings upon green base boards
Clothes piling behind white closet doors
Sheets linger of the lovers before
Dishes sink in stink mold and more
How beautiful you are despite your life’s plight
Your intentions pure. Your spirit redeemed.
Your beauty expressed internally.
The hanged man
Salt stings the wound but dries the blood
Sun burns the skin but enriches the body
Awareness
Soft
Silent
Serenades
Whipping
Woeful
Whispers
Tangled
Tortured
Truths
Silent
Sulking
Serenades
Suddenly surfacing. This is awareness.
Gentrification is coming and there will be cupcakes
The fire cooked in that brick house like a brick oven
Sending smoke signals of distress
answered by White saviors dressed in
bamboo frames, pompadour laid, cuffed denim tamed
Sent by wealth mongering developers waving green to put out enduring flames
That fire wadn’t my fault though
I know how to cook. Grandma taught me:
2 cups of hope for its happiness
2 teaspoons of love for its longevity
3 pinches of culture for its distinction
And dip ya finger in it, so you know that community taste just right
The taste became bland when the mural I scrape my culture from was painted over.
When the block parties I milly rock summer seasoning the cops seized
The taste became bland when Mr. Thahn’s cornersto’ don’t sell it no mo’
Shelves stocked with $3.99 pre-cut avocados
The taste became bitter when my next door neighbor stop waving.
I couldn’t find love in Francine’s handcuffed teenagers
Shit talking neighborhood associations
I couldn’t find love in house code violations
The batter became toxic.
The soul of the community had croaked when Missionary Baptist Church doors closed
When high rising rents left you broke
The soul of the community had croaked when speculators knocked on yo doe’
and luxury condos took afloat
The soul of the community had croaked when our public schools closed.
The soul of the community had croaked when police increased patrol.
The soul of the community had croaked when my block wadn’t Black no mo’
My family recipe was missing ingredients
So I substituted:
Bamboo frames for disdain
Pomade for brevity
And denim jeans for normality
I wanted to see what would happen if I experimented with its ingredients; beat it until there’s no visible irregularities; then increase the heat pressure pass its constraints.
(evil laugh)
That fire cooked in that brick house like a brick oven. Sending smoke signals of distress. This time, only the fire department came
Sunni Hutton is a native to multiple hoods in St. Louis. She is a freelance writer and consultant letting her upbringing inform her work and letting her destiny fuel it. She is committed to a societal transformation alongside her own spiritual healing all of which can be achieved by the written word—and some action of course! When she’s not taking care of herself she’s building people power by organizing other renters through the organization, Homes For All St. Louis. Social media splash image by Richard Reilly mixing images of post-industrial locations both in urban St. Louis and small town Missouri.