(A poem for youth in foster care)
(MALIK, May 1, 2015)
A room with beds along two walls about twelve on each side. Not quite home but its where little
rainbow. Some mature enough to realize and accept the situation for what it is and the very little
ones come and go. Well-nourished with the proper foods. Clothed, groomed and educated.
Equipped with everything a person could need while lacking the presence of whom they we’re
created. These corridors capture life’s evolution for the forgotten but not totally discarded.
Surviving hard knock lives enjoying the arts and cultivating community gardens. Beating odds
and overcoming statistics while apart of the system. Doing all these things seasonally, annually,
and monthly until attrition processes them through the system.