From my eighth-floor window
I could hear hope bounce back and forth
on concrete loitered with crack vials.
Dirt-caked Nikes were like hands
reaching for revolution
in the air.
It didn’t get them out of the projects,
but Jordan would have been proud
the way these boys balled.
It kept their bodies distracted from the hunger
of not eating for three days.
Here, many children raised themselves.
Forced to grow up without grownups.
It’s a strange thing not to have parents
strange the way these kids parented
themselves.
Adults in small bodies
swallowing their pride for one more game.
They might not eat today,
but boy, how they balled.
This was inspired by the real events of growing up in The Robert Taylor Projects as a kid in early 90s Chicago. Head over to my TikTok @yecheilyah to listen to the poem.
Our 6th Annual Poetry Contest is on the Way!
The PBS Blog 
It is difficult to imagine the lives of children who have to face such difficulties every day. But it was nice to read that their game helped them. Thank you for sharing.
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You’re welcome. I was one of those kids and I’ve seen the talent many of us possessed as children. Those gifts carried us through, and gave us hope.
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