Category: The Early Days

By Yeabfikir Ayele

Gardens are expensive nowadays because
peace is in demand since paradise is
out of the question.

But pray tell what has been the hold up
I’ve been on hold waiting in a hurricane rolling
through my neighborhood kind of like
an addiction like cohesive alphabets rolling off
of tongues rebuking their coexistence in a sentence
kind of like a line or
two of cocaine kind of like the scenes playing in a
mother’s mind when her kid is a few minutes late.

They call it the hood for a reason; no neighbor, mother, father, child, adult to claim it, to raise it. Cohesion is only in the hood, the blood, a flood of the white stuff is coating the flowers in the backyard from the erased blackboards but still they sniff it just in case.

“cheap chalk?”

“you know what they say”

“what?”

“do you think i’d be here if i knew”

An angel is on guard cause
they defended wisdom from a fool.
they said pray tell and the fool told them

“it’s a bullet proof plan”

they forgot his skin is the holster moving up the torso
to deliver them to the hands of their evil.
now they’re in a garden in the backyard with the white stuff
he tells them to snort it out of its misery
they oblige and bam
a bullet or two in their chest.
run back to the arms of the hood;
it’s getting lonely and cold without the
warm blood streaming downstream
a tributary kissing another line or two till kingdom come.

Photo by Yeabfikir (A cold night in D.C.)
Edited March 28, 2024

March 2, 2024

See, if I had a nickel for every encounter I have had with an angry dog, I wouldn’t know how much money I would have since I don’t know how the currency works in the U.S. Yes, that’s right. I, my friends, am a non-resident alien. Sounds enticing (“how to spell inticing”)? I am not sure if the dogs were angry, to be honest. It took me a while to recall this memory. It took me a while to spell these words out. It takes me a while to realize beauty and purpose. It takes me a while to realize the light or shadow that people cast in their walk. It takes me a while to look back at my years of existence and see how they have rooted themselves comfortably in my brain. The angry dogs are not metaphorical, in case you were wondering. They’re very real. The angry dogs that have chased me in the earlier years of my life, two to be exact, have created a home in my memories, a furnished apartment one might call it.

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A sister is a grown-up who doesn’t have a past until she does
grab your attention with a quiet smile or a single tear
testing your humanity to the brink of the burdens
she carried she bets and bids on your purity
A sister makes you tic twice or think twice when
you rest your case before the jury that is the world
she tells you she’s been quiet waiting for your response
when she speaks for the first time you realize
she’s been speaking for a while

Yeabfikir Ayele (2/28/2024)

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We were picking up my brother from school, my sister and I. My sister was doing most of the heavy lifting; I’m pretty sure she piggybacked me there. But don’t take my word for it because I was at most 4 years old. When we reached the school, students weren’t released yet so we waited. This was in Ethiopia. Stray dogs aren’t stray dogs; they’re just dogs. A dog having an owner was more uncommon than it being a stray, in my part of town at least. So, when we saw a dog wandering the playground, we weren’t brought to our knees inquiring for its first and last name. We went about our business. But then, my sister felt a presence in our two-person circle. Other than Jesus, unfortunately.

The dog was getting closer and closer and closer. That’s when it happened: the chase! It ran towards us with all its might and my sister ran away from it with all her might. I took a while to realize what exactly was happening. I remember being remarkably slow at putting more distance between myself and the dog.

“ahhhhhhhh” said my sister
“ahhhhhhhhh” said I

I can’t remember the conversation we had; I was 4, so most of the words were just screams. My sister didn’t quite make it to the door of the school. Instead, she took a small detour away from it in a curved manner. She started running in circles is what I’m getting at. And I…also started running in circles. The dog…also started running in circles. See, now we had an episode of a cartoon in our hands. So, we delivered. By that I mean we run for at least a full length of a cartoon episode put on a loop. I remember at some point thinking, “is this even worth it? what is life? what is death?” I was getting tired…my sister was getting tired…the dog was getting tired and looking…smaller.

Could it be!? Was it a…a…a cutie little puppy. Yes, it was a puppy. But, at the time its cuteness wasn’t our top priority. We were still under the impression that it wanted to see us to the gates of heaven. We run in circles, probably under the eyes of some spectators, screaming and running from a puppy. We weren’t even running; we were walk-running (ruwalking?)

This is where the gap forms in my memory. I don’t know where the dog went or how our circular adventure ended (Ferdinand Magellan could never). I remember only our walk home from school with my brother and sister. We told him all our trials and tribulations. We might have omitted the fact that it was a puppy. But, here you are brethren. The truth is now released to the masses.

In all sincerity, this may be my favorite memory from my earlier years. Within a single frame, I saw my sister, my brother and I laughing at what felt at the moment like a never-ending pain. This memory made me expect similar frames throughout my life, us three and our triumphs: superheroes and full circle moments. It rooted itself comfortably in my brain. I think it is this memory that made me want to believe that people are static in my earlier years. That we are in a cartoon episode where characters relive the same way every single day, where their emotions dissipate and never fester or evolve. But, upon further investigation of this memory, it has become apparent that neither my sister nor I were made to run in a circle of any kind for ten minutes let alone an eternity.