MT in Solitary - Poem

African American Review, Winter, 2000 by Reginald Harris

Life is ruled by Spaces,

even I learned that much:

In a square of light 20 feet around they

want an animal. Outside the ropes

battles point to incarceration, a cell, alone,

walked off at 6 by 9.

It don't

matter. I'm used to

shadowboxing, am the shadow

they all placed bets on,

an iron cup bulging with their fear.

What choices did I have?

Boxed-in from birth by the Boogie-Down,

"freedom" that could be taken in the streets,

from a bottle or a blunt. Or in a ring where

black fire's trained to rage,

fed with my own blood.

Monster. Rapist. Criminal. Gorilla.

Frankenstein.

What did they expect?

Spoon out pain in 3-minute doses

for spit-dripping mouths always wanting--

then turn docile, meek, and "well-behaved,"

a grinning late-night talk show guest,

when the crowd goes home? Fuck that.

What happens to a warrior when the war is done?

I'm the necessary fallen angel you all

wanted, the needed image

flicker through your brain when you see

some other Nigga on the street.

You asked for The Perfect Fist.

Here

I Am.

A member of the Cave Canem: African-American Poetry Workshop/Retreat family, Reginald Harris is Technology Training Manager for the Enoch Pratt Free Library in Baltimore, Maryland.