Maverick Poet Award Finalist: “On The Morning Before” by Kimberly Jae

Kimberly Jae (she/her) is an award-winning, Pushcart nominated, and published Crip Poet ranked among the top 30 slam poets in the world by PSI in 2018. In 2019, she had a stroke becoming disabled, developing a language-based disability called Aphasia, which affects her ability to speak, read and write. Undaunted, she has since won multiple fellowships, national and international slam competitions and has multiple publications. Her writing focuses on telling the stories of BIPOC, LGBTQ and disabled women and children. Her poem, On the Morning Before, tells the story of a terrorist attack from the point of view of a child, who focuses on that which brings her comfort. Her first full length manuscript, Baptism, was shortlisted for the Sexton Prize in 2021. In 2022, she was the winner of the Visionary Arts Poetry Prize. She can be found everywhere @iamkimberlyjae. Visit her website at https://artistecard.com/KimberlyJae

On The Morning Before 

by Kimberly Jae

We play hopscotch on the pink and blue chalk outline at the bus stop,

I hold my skirt tight

my tight covered knees claim the pavement. Peel themselves onto it

the blood flows

You owe me a huck-a-buck and some gum

Instead, you tuck your PE shirt around my knees and whisper 

Alex likes you!  Here he comes! In time for me to duck behind the benches

My momma says books over boys

You say my momma country

I say your momma fat  

On the afternoon before

You save me a seat in the cafeteria

Trade your peaches for my chocolate milk

Ask to copy my homework

Offer me $1

Offer Krystal stuffs toilet paper in her bra

Offer Damian got into a fight in math class

Offer a Kit Kat and a Cabbage Patch Kid I can borrow for the night

I hand you my homework and you hand me Kit Kat oozing from its foil.

On the night before

The stillness slowly drains into the darkness

My mother fusses about another set of torn and bloody tights

My father will not let us fuss

My father makes us pack with shaky hands and trembling skin

His face is wet. 

I have never seen him cry

I don’t know this man who looks like my father 

Grips handfuls of hair while tossing paper and books into a bag

I don’t know where we are going

You say to keep the Cabbage Patch until I return

My father says to get off the phone

Before I cradle it back on the wall

I tell you I love you best friend

We will play Barbies and Legos and you

Still owe me a huck-a-buck and some gum

We say we will go to the Candy Lady when we get back.

But then the blinding flashes of light finally arrive 

turn our neighborhood into clumps of dust and flames

the darkness gives way for the sky to turn orange and smoke

And the men with t-shirts around their heads rip the wood out of the store windows.

Burst through vaults with bricks to drag out the mommas and daddies

And the men in green with guns shovel people into holes before the firecrackers in their hands pop

The blood flows

My mother dissolves to the dirt as my father

Picks her up and slings her across his shoulder

Tucks me under his arm

The melted Kit Kat staining his fingers

I hear you say we will be alright.

my momma is country

Can you borrow my homework. 

I find joy in those moments.

Enough to block out the chaos

I gripe your Cabbage Patch until the stuffing starts to peek through

As the rhythm of my father’s steps becomes hurried staccato

And when I see you again

You still owe me a huck-a-buck and some gum.