Handling the Fragile
In high school my hands were boxing
gloves when I played the violin. I’ve never been
good at handling the fragile. When holding
my best friend’s newborn I don’t know
if I’m filled with more, hope, joy
or anxiety. I’m a concert of broken eggs. A carton
of more noise than music settling
within my own head. I want
children of my own but I think too many
griefs have impacted my smile. There are people
I would want to meet my first kid who already
can’t, people I can speak to but that I can’t
hear from anymore. Because of age, or cancer,
or violence. When I hand him back
Deonte Osayande is a writer from Detroit, MI. His poems and essays have been published in many publications including Word Riot, The Missing Slate, and New Poetry from the Midwest. He has been a member of the Detroit Poetry Slam Team multiple times which he now manages. He’s currently teaching English at Wayne County Community College, and through the Inside Out Detroit Literary Arts Program.
See more of his work in 3.4 here.
And in 3.1 here and here.