Running From Poverty
poverty scares me
it always has
i remember
the first time
i met poverty
on the corner
of puritan avenue
and roselawn street
right outside
of my first
elementary school
i could
clearly see
poverty
from the
second floor
in Ms. Korn’s classroom
it loomed
over and inside
of the brick
liquor store
owned by
Lebanese men
who sold every
convenient item
imaginable
they’d smile at us
take our cash
or food stamps
and even speak
in our Detroit lingo
their hands never touched ours
we were
separated
by the thick
bulletproof glass
that they installed
a clear boundary that separated their world from ours
othered
different
and when they locked
their stores at night
they’d drive back
to their fancy homes
in fancy Bloomfield Hills
in their fully insured
fancy foreign cars
i eventually
asked Ms. Korn
to move my seat
poverty kept
staring at me
through her
classroom windows
and i could
never figure
out why
the friendly
Lebanese men
only sold us
high sodium
and high sugar
foods
no fruits
no vegetables
twelve years later,
the lady in my salon chair
offered me one of her grapes
i told her, no thank you
she could
barely afford
the $95 dollar
cornrows
that i was
plaiting in her hair
money
that i saved
throughout college
so that i could
slowly build a life
of visiting stores
without
bulletproof glass windows
i could not take a piece of her fruit
poverty can look like that too
hair on point
nails on point
clothed in the latest
and most expensive fashion
bank accounts —
empty
it works for some people
but
i never
wanted
that life
so i started running
i ran
from the
gucci bags
cartier glasses
and liquor stores
i ran from it all
now, people
keep telling me
that i’ve worked
hard enough
and that
i should finally
treat myself
At least, get yourself a nice bag, they tell me
but
i am running
i am still running
from poverty
