Writing Through Hard Times – April 2019
Each month, the Denver VOICE publishes a selection of writing from workshops sponsored by Lighthouse Writers Workshop. The Hard Times Writing Workshop is a collaboration between Denver Public Library and Lighthouse Writers Workshop. This workshop is open to all members of the public—especially those experiencing homelessness. Hard Times meets every Tuesday from 3-5 p.m. on the fourth floor of DPL’s Central branch. The Lighthouse sponsored workshop at The Gathering Place is specifically for that organization’s clients.
To check out more writing by the poets featured in this column, go to writedenver.org.
Stephanie Esposito
Why I don’t believe anyone when they say it’s going to be ok
there is a shoe
you wear on your foot
and there is a shoe that comes
through the air
a shoe that makes the cops come
and say
what is going on here
ma’am
one of you has to leave
for safety
then everyone has to decide
and we really want the same thing
but that’s not a choice
anymore, somehow
so dad has to go and mom
I don’t know what she’s doing
maybe the cops quieted her down
I did go along
stayed in the hotel
walked into school feeling mysterious
like I knew everything was going to change
like I had “seen some shit”
maybe I wanted her to hurt
for telling me I had no friends
for telling me I wasn’t pretty
for making my lip bleed
but we all hurt.
meeting up at gas stations
taking a bag from one trunk to another
cut between two but some lost in translation
our hearts becoming satellites
that don’t have anywhere to send our signals to
so
sorry.
if I’m just out here blinking.
if I don’t wear shoes
and just want to drink sunshine
(and beer)
take me out and dust me off
like a rug in spring
Jonny Johnson
In The Dumps
I was down in the dumps
Long day, lots of bumps
I’d just gotten over the biggest hump
And found myself
Banged up Chewed up Spat up Sittin up
With the largest head lump
No, I needed no mirror
Or medic magazine
I needed no scripture
Nor friend inspectin’ me
To tell I was a-hurtin
The pain rose from within
As true as rock, as true as wind
As true as rust upon the metal bin
There I stopped to lay my things
Just a short time to set my belongings
Free my shoulders of their weight
And give my head a chance to syncopate
I was free of any physical burden
And sat up with time enough
To paint constellations in the stars
And dream a little dream without going too far
A circling, circus of little mice,
Elephants and dragons
Dancing two-step around my noggin
Around this dump, around this bin
I found newspaper clippin’s
And in the headlines
Were media’s attempts to realize
A world of importance
Trump had a new haircut
And Putin was on the wire
People surrounded the police trucks
With signs sayin’, “Work for hire.”
I kicked the papers away
No idea which direction
This world is headin’
But I needed some relief Some fun to kick in
So I dived in the dumpster
To see if there’s somethin’ worth havin’ Passed the usual white bags
With their pierced sides oozin’ and juicin’
And clear signs of both college kids
And drunks a-boozin’
A week’s worth of baby diapers
Gave the bin a good rank
Beneath the eggshells
Pricked by toothpicks and napkins
And a blended assortment of colorful who knows what else
I find matches, good for two nights I place them to the side
Lay them on the carton
And there at the bottom
Is a set of magnets
All out of order
In no language I understand
But it was my moment
My reason to stand
And that’s where you’ll find me in the bottom of that dump
I’ll be back at the beginning
With my daily blessings
I’ll be busy at play with my A, B, C’s
Sheree L. Downs
Homeless, Sorta
Her mom pays for a motel room on West Colfax, $1,200 a month. But, the meth has taken hold of her. So, instead of a semi-safe room that waits for her, she runs the streets looking for that next fix.
Come back to the motel room, get clean, your mom worries about you.
