Free Bronx Masquerade by Nikki Grimes Page B

ain’t no big secret. Just bring your poetry every Open Mike Friday and share right along with the rest of us. It’s that simple.”
    “Yeah, I guess I can do that. I did it that one time.”
    “Yes, you did. Hey, I’m out of here,” said Wesley.
    He jogged down the hall to his next class before I could thank him. Halfway there, he turned back and yelled, “By the way, forget Porscha’s walk. It ain’t working for you.”
    I don’t know where it came from, but somewhere inside myself, I found a smile.

OPEN MIKE
    Private Puzzle
    BY SHEILA GAMBERONI
     
     
    God must love puzzles
the way he scatters our pieces
across the table of the world.
Here, squares bathed in shadow
appear to be the same
though each bears a different name.
It’s only on closer examination
I learn that no two pieces
are alike.
Is that the plan?
To force confrontation?
Investigation?
Communication?
I raise my hand to ask
but am told
to move along.
So I nudge through the crowd,
scrape my shins,
feel the crush of bone,
moan a little,
then cry loud enough
for anyone to hear.
But still I go on seeking
an angular slot
to slip myself into,
someplace that feels
like home.
A friend points me
to the podium.
There!
For a moment,
the puzzle is done.
We are one now—
Eighteen syllables.
A single poem.

Tyrone
    That girl’s threatening to be a regular feature. This is the second week in a row she’s brought something to read for Open Mike Friday. Except for me and Wesley, I don’t think anybody’s read two times in a row. But hey, she can read all she wants. Least she ain’t talking that Africana mess no more. Good thing too. Now even Judianne can stand to have her in the same room.
    If that girl ain’t careful, somebody might actually end up liking her.

Janelle
    Jojo asked me to marry him yesterday. When Tyrone heard me telling Lupe that, he laughed his head off.
    Jojo is eight years old. He’s one of the kids I tutor at the public library. I was there yesterday helping him prepare for a math test when he suddenly cocked his head, looked up at me and said, “Miss Janelle, you’re the most beautifulest lady on this whole planet.”
    “Thanks, Jojo.”
    “I been thinkin’, Miss Janelle. Maybe we should get married.”
    Just like that! Out of the blue. Jojo sounded so serious, it was hard not to laugh. I didn’t want to hurt his feelings though, so I pretended to cough a couple of times and covered my face.
    “Well! I’ll have to think about that,” I said. “But first, we have to get you into the fourth grade. Deal?”
    “Deal,” he said. Jojo’s such a cutie.
    I’m glad somebody finds me beautiful, even if he is just eight years old! But maybe he’s not the only one, though. Not anymore. The kids in Mr. Ward’s class sure look at me differently these days. I noticed that at the last Open Mike Friday.
    When I first got up to read, I was my usual self. I sucked in my stomach, walked slow to make sure nothing jiggled, and tugged down on my shirt, like I could really hide my extra pounds under there. I waited for Mr. Ward to switch on the video and then started to read.
    I looked up from the page a few times and noticed kids in the front row with their eyes closed, smiling. Amy and Tanisha nodded every now and then, like I’d said something familiar, something they understood. Judianne, Leslie, and Porscha leaned forward so they could hear every word. Everybody really listened to what I had to say, even the guys. Tyrone, Wesley, Steve, Raul, Devon—they all stared at me like I was someone special. And nobody cared about the size of my body. Not even me.

OPEN MIKE
    The Door
    BY JANELLE BATTLE
     
     
    I’ve been busy lately
carving a door of words
without a lock in sight.
Your ear is the key
that lets you into me.
     
    (I am a secret
I want to share.
I swing my door open
and say a prayer.)
     
    Look around.
Take the tour.
Fear hangs on the wall
and shame, sometimes.
Emotional dislocation too.