Gentrifier
the new grocery store sells real cheese, edging out the plastic bodega substitute. the new neighbors
know how to feed their children, treat themselves to oysters sometimes. other times, to brunch. finally,
some good pastrami around these parts. new cafe on broadway. new trees in the sidewalk. everyone
can breathe a little easier. neighborhood association throws a block party. builds a dog park right
in the middle of the baseball field. crime watch listserv snaps photos of suspicious natives. how’d all these ghosts
get in my yard? cop on speed dial. arrange flowers as the radio croons orders. rubber on tar,
skin on steel. an army of macbook pros guarding its french presses. revival pioneers. meanwhile,
white college grads curse their racist neighbors, get drunk at olneyville warehouse punk shows,
ride their bikes on the right side of the road, say west end like a badge, while folks on the other side of cranston street
shake their heads and laugh. interrogation lamps burning down their stoops. banks gutting their houses.
i look more like the cambodian kids against that wall than any of my roommates. but feel safest within two miles
of an espresso machine. look around at parties and think, fresh saplings. revival pioneers. know folks look at me
on my bike and think, ivy league. dog park. treat yourself to a neighborhood sometimes. none of this land is mine
but our footprints are everywhere. silent battlefront we new settlers shove into our back pockets,
lump in our collective throat as we chase a new world, sweep the foyer, promise we’ll help clean up the mess.
—Franny Choi, from Floating, Brilliant, Gone (2014)