Chanice Cruz
You Left Your Porchlight On Neighbor
It rained hard/the day after you were found/sitting on a lawn chair/your hands folded over one another/your mouth twisted/like you were in the middle of talking/by the time they found you./ The morning after you died/I thought I saw you peeling back/the curtain/as I walked to my car at 3am/facing the darkness head on.
And all I can think of was you./Do you remember when this neighborhood was all trees?/The decade my mom spent wondering if she could claw herself out/a time of safety and suffocation.
At 3am/I am running to my car/holding my breath/so I won’t drown in the memories/in the heap of souls surrounding me/there are so many people I am carrying with me these days./I’ve always been told/to face the darkness head on/walk like I’m not afraid of what is lurking/never be afraid of the shadows up ahead.
The morning after you died/your porchlight was on/did it call you home Neighbor?
Chanice Cruz is originally from Brooklyn, NY, however, credits Richmond, VA, for introducing her to the slam poetry world. She is currently an Open Mic coordinator at Kew & Willow Books in Queens, NY and is a co-host for The Poet & The Reader Podcast. She received her bachelor’s degree in English at Queens College. Her poems have been published in Newtown Literary, Sinister Review, Periphery Journal, and several other literary magazines.