Served with Mashed Potatoes

Served with Mashed Potatoes

Trista Hurley-Waxali

He was so big we couldn’t join him in the teacup ride. It’s a popular ride at the carnival so I watched as kids waited patiently for the ride to finish and for the extra cup to become vacant. Lira didn’t have to worry about buying extra tickets because her father ensured her more than enough to redeem on her ticket card. She told me, “dad didn’t want anyone left out.” She took my hand and his leash towards the roller coaster. The attendant saw him and couldn’t say anything about how there’s a weight restriction. He started telling people how they would have to wait for the next trip to lighten the load and secure the loop. Lira didn’t seem phased by the request but rather sad that the attendant placed him in a car near the end. I assured her with the promise of seeing the photo at the souvenir stand. She liked that idea as we went over the hill. She bought the photo for me as I couldn’t stop laughing at his snout being pushed up by the force. A pig’s body was never designed with aerodynamics in mind. I thanked Lira for the picture before she grabbed my hand angling for the games. I watched as she focused on throwing the ball to curve into the wooden basket. The pig sniffed the ground by her feet. It only took a few throws before she got the technique on how to spin for a win. The attendant said if I landed the next throw that we could get a large toy. I followed her lead and released the ball at the same place. We cheered as she pointed to the cow. Lira shrugged her shoulders, “Maybe it’ll look familiar to him.” I reminded her that a pig raised in a house had no idea about a farm. She laughed and asked if maybe the memory could be passed to him like his tail. She looked at the time and said it was getting close for our ride. She tugged at the leash and the pig followed us to the parking lot driveway. As we waited for her carriage, the pig grazed a small patch of grass. We were both surprised it wasn’t fake and looked at his 13

tail curl with pleasure. When her driver arrived the horses saw the pig and snuffed away. They showed too much pride in carrying a pig for pleasure. She didn’t pick up on that as her driver put out a stool to help us into the carriage. She used it to first push on her pet. I went in last and closed the door. The driver gave a sigh when we all settled into place and announced he was beginning the passage home. Lira warned me about the risks of traveling with the pig. That if a group of people ambushed the carriage we were to remain calm and give over the pig. She said it’s never happened but it’s only a matter of time. ~ We stepped out of the carriage and went to the back of the house for the pen’s entrance. She picked that room because it had a door to the yard. The pig flopped on a pile of hay lining the wall opposite to the interior door. She told me he was hungry, that we should fix up a plate. We went to her fridge that looked like a wall. She placed her hand on a panel that confirmed her fingerprints before sliding out the handles to open. The crisper drawer was full of what she called scraps and she said, “It’s odds and ends from salads that I had the staff keep aside for the pig.” I looked at some of the colorful pieces and wondered when was the last time my mom had a salad. Lira asks me to go and find a large plate so we could bring them to the pen. I opened a cupboard above the counter with a surface so clean I could sleep on it. I see a large dish with handles and brought it over. Lira laughed saying it was a platter and I must be in the mood for fancy. I got red because I wasn’t sure what a platter meant. The dishes we used at home were thin and had scratches from use. Mom always said she wanted better dishes, that she’d get a set with her tax money. But then our car broke down leaving decor lower on the list. Then one weekend I bought a set from a yard sale. Mom cried for hours in her room. I told her I was sorry but she said she was sorry. We ordered Chinese food and made sure to dirty each piece of the new set. Mom laughed at the bright blue colour in our plain brown kitchen. She

said this would have been on trend when she was growing up. I told her it felt like the sky was serving us, heaven itself. Lira asked me to sleep over. I texted mom and she asked if we ate. I looked at the pig sleeping and smelled our dinner in the oven. I wrote back that we did. I had two scoops of chocolate ice cream that tasted like it’d never been in a freezer. My friend laughed at how my ears got blue when my brain froze. I told her she was lying but she took a picture on her phone. The quality of the picture was clear enough to show some ear wax at the top. In the shower I scrubbed my ear before changing into my department store pajamas, a set mom insisted I keep in my bag. Mom didn’t want Lira’s family to think we were too poor for pajamas. Lira chose a movie on her television and then asked if I wanted popcorn. The maid was unpacking the dishes from the washer when we put a bag in the microwave. I watched as she dried her hands on a towel before removing the hot bag to pour it into a bowl. Mom showed me how to open the bag so it could remain as a bowl. I felt embarrassed that I knew that and couldn’t show Lira as she pressed the warm bowl into her silk pajamas. ~ My stomach had difficulty settling down from the meat. I laid for a while feeling the bamboo leaf fan move the air. I sat up from my sleeping bag and watched Lira digesting with ease as she snored. We met while shopping, we both reached for the same sweater. I knew I couldn’t afford it but I wanted to try it on. Lira said it looked better on me and insisted she buy it as a gift. I told her it was okay if I could treat her to a milkshake. She had an air of confidence that none of the girls in my class could carry, molded like custom gadgets for her home. I went downstairs and saw no one was awake. In this darkness Lira would be running into objects but I’d gotten accustomed to keeping the lights off, adjusting to using any shape of moon. I opened the door to the pen and watched the pig sleep. I

thought of all the families who were wide awake trying to figure out where they were getting their next meal. I knew that feeling more than this shame of indulgence. I opened the rear door and stepped outside. The air was crisp and no alarm was going off. I came back inside and left the yard door ajar. I said goodbye before going back into my sleeping bag. The next morning there was a note slid underneath the bedroom door. Lira read it and sat back down on a bench by her bed. She told me that her staff were looking for her pig, that “It escaped.” I told her, “I’m sorry, I’m sure they’ll find it.” She shook her head and told me that “It’s fine,” her dad warned her about this day. “Freedom is their instinct.” I nodded and knew this would be the last time I’d be in that house. There was never enough in common to give what we had the title of a friendship. I looked around and realized there was nothing she would ever ask for in life. She would never know why her pig was hunted.

The Arson Set by Mrs. Anderson

Lester A. Batiste

In your eyes, the confidence that sailed the ocean blue is where your privilege hides. Where you think my weakness glides under umber tones you see.

Your name, Anderson, gives you power when you think I have no idea how to set up a classroom without Chuck’s help. Chuck is

apparently the most gifted kid that can do it all by himself, so by the time I Walked into the room, Just after fourth period, there you sat pouring gasoline.

He can read, write breathe, and bleed, so why in the hell does he even need. A teacher, With one degree from Master, and another soon titled Masters For Assimilation.

No matter how many degrees I have, you still don’t see What your child truly needs. Cotton swabbed hands throw Freshly lit matches

“Oppressor of Knowledge, Inept at teaching, The principle is going to hear about this, Why did you come, Liar!”

S.T.E.M Field Frenzy

Lester A. Batiste

Want a grant? Write about abstract number! What you know about sedimentary rock? Ask geologists who huddle in flocks, but older rocks go lower to slumber.

What color is math? Green for the money— I suppose, black for numbers, and red for signs Why in the fuck is this world obsessed with lines? And gadgets that flow money gold and funny.

But what bout the poet, what bout the line that links lives? What bout the story that asks could the engine? What bout the picture that makes Lisa moan a cry of joy ? What about Shakespeare noting much to do?

May the sons of every nation know their math. To add up all the sins against men forced to learn division, To subtract all things learned from mistakes and multiply every genocide that has repeated itself in history by 1.

What’s the product?

May the daughters know their science, so that they confirm global warming is real. So that I may finally drown in Bde Maka Ska as my body floats to find a sedimentary grave away from the rampant rising ocean waves.

May the engineers be fruitful in creating a time machine to take me forward to the 27th century. To be a black poet 19

minding my own business, writing words which wet lips and lines. May my poem spit venom? May my verse expose the fetters on the minds!

If Tupac Lived

Sibylla Nash

If Tupac lived Who would he have become? He was a man child raging it’s me against the world Prescient, he knew he would die young I just wonder If Tupac lived What amazing things he could have done Would he have channeled his energy and charisma into championing a cause Would he have faded from the limelight Overshadowed by Weezy and Drake Or would he have uttered the battle cry free Breezy, free Bobby, free fill-in-the-blank of the next artist needing freeing because he remembered the time he did time If Tupac lived Would he have remained on top Or would he have abandoned hip hop Kind of like how Will Smith did with rap He became the Fresh Prince of Bel Air and never looked back Would he have become a writer, director, producer, or congressman Would he have won an Oscar or an Emmy Instead his potential was snuffed out like so many Would he have stood on the senate floor Spitting hard truths wrapped in rhyme Creating a filibuster to kill time Straddling two worlds - gangster and artist Artist and gangster He was a flashpoint of rage If Tupac lived Would he have found a way to get the youth engaged What would he think about Suge getting 28 years? Would he say you set me up but I ain’t mad at cha? 21

As he settled into being an elder-statesmen in the game like Jay Z Trading in on his fame for more money to shill vodka or clothes, trading up from those girls he met at clubs Would he have married, settled down, found a wife Attended PTA meetings, created a college fund, passing on hard earned lessons to his daughter or son Instead he’s canonized in his tats, forever repping Thug Life If Tupac lived Would old beefs be bygones? Would he apologize to Faith, mourn Biggie, collaborate with Diddy, march for Trayvon, for Eric, for Sandra, and all the countless others who died too soon for no reason Like blackness is a sign for hunting season Black and blue, blue on black, black on black, blackness is under attack Would he take a knee in solidarity with Cap Would he rep a tee with Black Lives Matter on the back If Tupac lived to be 30, to be 40 to today, who would he have become Man, I just wonder if Tupac lived, What amazing things he could have done?