“How I Survived” by Chaun Ballard

Chaun Ballard

HOW I SURVIVED

I stayed in late nights.

I shot late night hoops.

I perfected windmills

and tomahawks.

I let my knees burn holes

in her mother’s carpet.

I mixed Top Ramen

with blood sausage, Jesus

with mint juice.

I developed foresight

and bad omens, packed

Juicy Fruit, a sixth sense.

I avoided gaggles of geese,

murders of crows,

and uttered no language.

I left when it was time

to leave. I arrived too late.

I prayed before I walked.

I prayed before I prayed.

I focused my gaze

upon the ground.

I never gazed too long.

I honored my father and mother.

I had a father and mother.

I ran errands. I ran home.

I completed chores.

I didn’t shoot. I shot

the breeze. I learned to clown

and mean mug. I listened

for rain. I listened for gun shots.

I hoped to God they didn’t

figure me out. I didn’t hang up

the phone. I hung up the phone.

She had a nice figure,

so I figured her yours.

I locked the storm door

when there were no storms,

and if someone knocked,

I wasn’t quick to answer.

I moved away. I moved back.

I moved away again.

I remembered what to forget.

I wrote this poem.

—from Poets Respond
April 16, 2017

__________

Chaun Ballard: “This poem is in response to the murder-suicide that took place on Monday at North Park Elementary. I spent much of my life in San Bernardino. Our city has endured many hardships and suffered many losses due to acts of violence. With every newscast from the city, I think of my years there and the people we have lost.” (web)

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“How I Survived” by Chaun Ballard

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