Brooklyn Days

I remember

Tasting life in cumin, curry, casareep & chili powder
at Brooklyn's annual West Indian Labor Day Parade
air rich with ecstatic movement and an unfettered sense of community
Red, Orange, Green, Blue, Regal purple flags worn and waved for miles
beads and wings swaying in unison to multilayered rhythms
the annual bacchanalian festival of food, music, flesh and rum
mustn't forget the rum
before the city robbed us of that libation
reminding us instead that the blood of Christ was still available on Sundays
or at the corner liquor store across the street from our schools

Saturday trips to Prospect Park , Rock & Bottle Cap soccer over cracked grassless trails
Bob Marley, Yellow Man, the Art of Noise and Classical music
Firecracker holidays on the roof, tar beach in the summer time
starry firelight skies above
Corto Negro Champaign, smoked gouda and "mota" filled rooms below.

Children playing into the night, running through broken hydrants
splashing each other and unsuspecting drivers
water steaming on the hot sticky asphalt 
flickering street lights and mothers calling their children home
while pulling laundry from rusted fire escapes and weathered cloths lines.

George Benson, "giving us the night" and Chaka Kahn's cool moan and wails
dancing off the walls with ice intoned glasses, laughter and the tidal hum of the entertained. 

And I remember... 

White powder and smoke accompanying occasional predatory invitations to "sit on Uncle's Lap"
My fists and feet delivering my response.

And they still remember
the bruises.