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On the corner

Down in the corner in an intersection i live With houses all around me Houses in a square and lark down the street It would be so fun if you and me could meet Within and intersection of two different streets If only you and me could meet

By the park

The house on the corner The house down the street For one park with all they meet They make a border of all teh houses Within all there live lots of mouses Down by the park all the trees they stand Making a square of houses that looks like a band Down by the oark with a building in the center Down by the park couldn't be better

Mrs. Powhattan

Along our fence at the end of the row, facing

toward the Acme parking lot, they come and

drink. Six or eight men, drunk all day, standing

at nobody’s idea of attention or lounging

on concrete parking barriers. They play the dozens

in increasing volume and crudeness as the 40s

decrease, and that is when our telephone rings.

“How’s the language?” asks Mrs. Powhattan.

From around the bend I watch her come, a speck

of eighty years old and her head eye-level with a

a man’s belly button. She needs her cane,

her arthritis curls her, but to me she is storming

forward. At her approach the men stand up, shift

from foot to foot, wary and bleary. Her words

knife through their mumbled protests and apologies.

“This is a decent neighborhood with children

in it,” and on and on until they persuade her they

will mind their tongues--and they do--or they stumble

up the alley to grace another spot or, at last, they retreat

home, fall into bed, and dream of dragons.

I am

I am from fresh air and trees swaying

In the wind.

I am from birds chirping their happy song.

I am from scurrying squirrels and children

Laughing.

I am from cool air and sun mixing like

The sweet silence and happy noise.

I am from my dog pulling me along with

Laughter all the way

I am from the few cars turning into traffic

Almost as fast as lightning.

I am from Philly

I am

Moms grilled cheese is as soft as a pillow.

I hear birds chirping in the trees

Kids playing in the street as the

Cars drive by. The sweet air smells

Better. The cold air makes me feel

Happy.

I am

I am at Linwood Park! I smell flowers.

I am at Linwood Park! I taste gold fish.

I am at Linwood Park! I feel chalk.

I am at Linwood Park! I hear bees.

I am at Linwood Park! I see the red wall &

My secret hideout (and people playing)

I am

I’m from green trees with

Leaves, from warm air and peaceful bees.

The traffic light that changes too fast

For many cars to pass.

I’m from the scent of fresh brown

Mulch and growing grass. The spring

Air and flowers and the different plants.

Some have great yellow blossoms with

Strong scents, some pink ones with a

Slight scent.

I’m from the buzz of

Bumble bees and blue birds covered

In bright feathers. I can hear the

Cheers of children playing in the park

I’m from the warm grass and

Sunshine. From the share bushes and

Rough concrete. I am from soft air.

I’m from Ardmore!

I am

I’m from dark chocolate smoother then sweet

Blueberries.

I’m from Federal donuts sweet as

Corn.

I’m from my mom’s clean car clean

As my clean room

I’m from the kids playing on the

Sidewalk laughing like a hyena

I am

I’m from a yellow door and skinny short trees.

I’m from a quit house, with nice smelling food.

I’m from sweet and chewy candy on a soft

Bed.

I am

I’m from

I’m from many stores, selling food and clothing

With their doors open to welcome people

I’m from people talking about what they’re

Going to do that day

I’m from food stores, with many pizzerias,

Sandwich shops, and Starbucks

I’m from a place where there is always

Something fun happenings

I’m from a smelly and great place

Where there is the horrible

Smell of gasoline, and great

smell of pizza from Stella’s.

I am

I live in Francisville.

Where I’m not allowed after dark

I taste pizza

The cold day

Once in a town it was very cold there.

The Coolor family had a sun named Mat.

Mat felt cold, it was too windy. He had

A frost bite on his leg. He felt the frost

On his lips. It tasted very salty. The

Smell of the hot Cocoa stand next door

Made him feel just a bit better. He bumped

Into a steamy hole but he helped

Himself. Finally he went inside in his

Warm house. The end.

I am

Keogh’s home

I’m from Little lands

Dogs barking. Stone. Flowers.

I am

I am from squirrels and birds climbing trees,

From fire burning on a cold day,

From the wind and the sun,

From dogs big and small, doors shutting and cars moving like

As loud as thunder on a rainy day.

I am from neighbors and friends,

And the best neighborhood ever!

I am

I’m from cracked sidewalks, landscaping lots, highway and stores. I‘m from

Fried chicken, pine trees and beautiful flowers, from cold railing and red, rough

Bricks. I’m from water, candy, Italian hoagies and granola. From people talking,

To birds chirping and loud jack hammers.

Pollo: 43rd and Chestnut, July to October, 2015 (West Philadelphia)

by Jane-Rebecca Cannarella

Behind the Dialysis Center in the lawn – across from the Shoppin’ Bag my boyfriend told me he saw a chicken. Just wandering.

It was Fourth of July and he had smoked a bowl so I thought he meant those big turkeys that come back every summer.

You mean one of those turkeys? No. A chicken.

I went to the laundromat near the Chinese food place I never go to and there was a rooster – his gate a clipped strut. Stopping. Peck. Peck. Peck. Then more strides walking toward the back of the Restaurant School. Like a challenge. Like a rooster with a dare, tail feathers swinging like popular girls’ ponytails in middle school.

We told our neighbors about him, the summer everyone sat on the stoop drinking Scotch from coffee cups filled with ice. We called him Pollo a name we pulled from a comic we picked up from Locust Moon.

Sometimes he was in the lot near the mural – the one that has mosaic tiles on the building that caught fire in 2012.

We listened for him when he went missing. Swore we heard him hiding in the bushes. Mourned when we thought one of the feral cats got him. He reappeared a day in early October. running triumphantly across the seeded lawn of the same Dialysis Center. His tail feathers streaming behind him.

It was the last we saw of him. Someone swore he entered the opened door to the crumbling Christ Memorial Church. And Pollo made us believe in transmogrification.

Projects to College in North Philly

by Ameenah Hankins

Running for the C reminds me

of the days when the 23 was built on

cobblestones, pretty rocks,

and Richard Allen.

At the tip, the Divine Lorraine Hotel

bore my name.

I learned to spell it perfectly

before I was was 4..

I could see my alma mater outside the windows

of Mary Channing Wister Elementary School.

It now hosts significant legacies and space

between the C and the 23

which makes it awesome and

a very special place.

North Philadelphia!

Renowned…

A landmark -

Notable, remarkable.

All over the world.

People call it Temple.

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