Windows: A Burning Haibun/The Chair/Notes on Living or Landing/Hold Still
by KEESHAWN MURPHY
in Spring 2024
Julia Mallory, “REMEMORY” (1017 N. 7th Street), 2021, Mixed-media collage on paper, 11 in. x 14 in.
Windows: A Burning Haibun
= a breathing
We were never allowed to open the windows of our bedroom. So, the light spilled through the cracks the way the well-trained blinds allowed it, with special permission. They opened to the front of the house, which shared skin with the neighbor’s walls. Ma believed someone was always watching. So, we were hidden from these imagined eyes. The paint sealed us in, and we grew warm in the summers as sills swelled. Once, when she was away, either at church or sharing the gospel where it needed to be, we gathered our strength and tore through the layers of matte white. We unlatched those precious capsules and breathed in a new air. We watched the vertical shields spread like lashes as they tried on tangled and messy faces. The wind played with them roughly at first and then a little softer. They made a rare music on that day, but we dare not move to it. We laid stock still on our beds as we cooled and cooed. Ma would soon see us wild felons in place of her children. But there was peace in knowing our end.
= a watching
We were ████████████████████████████ ████████████████the well-trained ████████
█████████████████████████████████████████ Ma █████████ was always watching. So, we ████████imagined████████████████████
████summers ███████████when she was away█████ ██████████████████████we gathered█████
███████████████████We████████████ █████breathed███████We ███████████spread like lashes ██tried on tangled and messy faces. █████ played █████ roughly █████then ██████made a rare music ████████
██████████████████████ as we cooled and cooed. ███████us wild██████████children. ██there was peace ████████████
= a gathering
█████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████ Ma██████████ was █████████
█████████ a ██████████████████████
███ summer ███████████████ she was ██████
██████████████████████ gathered ██████
████████████████████████████████
█████ breath ████████████████████████
███████████████████████████████████████████████████a rare music ████████
█████████████████████████ cool█and ██ ██████ wild ████████████████████████
████████████
The Chair
after Faisal Abdu’Allah
You watch what happens to a black boy’s soul
when you sit him down in a gold encrusted
chair and call him art. Kin to creator and canvas,
his bones will settle as if they have always known.
As if they’ve been waiting on the faulty memory
of the universe–royalty and razor slipping through
its cracks. Watch what happens to a black boy’s soul
when the fade is tight.
Notes on Living or Landing
In this place
The kids jump off the porch a little too early
Fast tailed as they are
They still know to greet the elders
Of any house they enter
Leave shoes at the door
Go give mama a kiss on the cheek
Whoever’s mama it may be
In this place
The manners of our dead still linger
In our kitchens
The rhythm of our dead still linger
In our strides, in our slang
The “moes” and “cuzzos”
And some too precious to put to paper
In this place
We know when to hold our breath
Passing Anacostia River
Who knows how many bodies have swelled
before sinking,
before landing,
before resting.
Hold Still
I miss your hands
tending to my kitchen
slicked with blue grease
the comb that’s lost a few teeth
over years of parting us pretty
pausing only for dinner
or to sneakily check in the bathroom mirror
chunk of my head still reaching
like a half-blown dandelion
Some days somehow
you’d swing and swing and miss
we’d run upstairs with our little victory
under our thumbs
and oh, how we laughed
so so deep
at how badly you failed
at making us hurt
Heavy as those hands were,
those Sundays held me.
KeeShawn Murphy is a writer and academic from Southeast D.C. She holds a B.A. from Lafayette College. Previously an English teacher at Phillips Academy Andover in Massachusetts, she is currently in the first year of her MFA program at the University of Kentucky. Her writing focuses on the complicated intersections of black womanhood, spirituality, and familial relationships. You can find more of her work in The Elevation Review.