Nov 27, 2018
Dawn breaks.
There’s a thickness to the austere atmosphere that blankets The Yards*
With each breath the chill in the air slices through me like razors.
My fingers turn to pins and my cheeks prickle as the cold digs for my bones.
The slow shuffle of a lazy Sunday here is all but absent.
Smoke signals sent through cracked windows by those too shy to face the cold steel of the day are the only signs of life.
Stillness....
Silence....
Solitude....
TODAY understands me, it is myself personified.
*(“The Yards” refers to The Courtyard Apartment’s or the ghetto apartments)
