my cell phone
blinks the name of my sister
BREANNA
blinking and I wonder
what a 1 am call has to do with safety
Breanna
19 years of gorgeous
some less of independence
wishing that college tuition grew on trees
fighting loss of confidence
in teenagers
bent on development
demanding the changing of circumstances
marching boldly
to middle class debt and white collar jobs
you robbed me, not you Breanna
but the collective you of all the isms
the you, I owe 80,000
working in administration
to pay for my keys
making art in my "off-time"
excuse me when I sniffle, just a bit
and sound hollow
in my response
remembering my own hustle
into middle class debt
and cheek biting
burying the isms deep
so as not to effect my push
sister, 1 am calls
speak of a different safety
to clamor into what you want
the fear of losing grip
on a dream,
built on other peoples money
that fear is real
and realer still, the reality
achievement does not make it go away--
subside
they are just different isms
clenching our ribs
squeezing life
and demanding
weekly, monthly, yearly sub-prime payments
that building buzz
reminding
you work to get
where is not always the destination
it is the work, the fear, the knotty clench
making forward steps the necessity
those dollars burnable
those isms just part of the check list
