Stories for Jersey

Ghosts Be Playin in my House

I dont believe in no ghosts. Til the mirrors and plates be jumpin offa shelves when we move in. I get it cuz no one told the ghost we comin' til we there. My godmom bags be movin' every night, the ones she leftover food with.  They be tucked in between the floor an cupboard when we git up. She blame me an I blame Quadiyah til he got spook an then I knew. But ain't a bad ghost. Aint be whoopin us. Aint be runnin out or shootin or actin grown at the busstop. Who need those ratchet bags. 

I Added Her to Speed Dial So I’d Call Her

Even though she 12 and I 23 I really like her. Somewhere tween like a goddaughter or cousin. Sometimes her phone be ringing, ringing, ringing. Sometimes she pickup. I grin so hard when she pick up my face hurt and if I been drinkin I speak all clear-like like I never be drinkin in my life that’s how, and if I been crying my throat feel like new it don’t hurt none, that’s why I think she like a daughter. Or goddaughter. Or a sister. I dunno which.  

Nobody Never Wrote No Stories For Jersey

Nobody never wrote no stories for Jersey. Trees be growin in Jersey too. Bronx, Brooklyn, Bed-Stuy, these the projects you be readin' bout. But I know trees be growin in Jersey too.