Michellina Cookington
Michellina Cookington Poems
When my rapist showed up under the People You may know tab on Facebook it felt like the closest to the crime scene I've ever been.
That is if I don't count the clockwork murder that I make of my own memory every time that I drive down Colfax avenue.
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We grow guns.
We place them in the hands of Americans and say,
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Hi, my name is Aliea Shell, I'm six years old, I live on, Thirty One Hundred Greenville avenue. I always hear shots fired, I don't know what that means. It was March 17,2012. Mamma was making my hair pretty, we were on the porch. Me, my mama, and my little sister, she's two. A truck came by, not the ice cream truck, this one's mean. A man out the window, seven loud noises came out. I felt them all, I wonder if they know, that's how old I would've turned this year.
My name is Canvas, I'm 26, they say curiosity killed the cat, but I'm only human. It was May 26th gunshots, I hurried to my door to see a gun being aimed at a man on a bike, guess the street didn't teach him to shoot, cause now I see my own blood running lose, do you believe in second chances?
My name is Josh Anderson, I was 14 when I killed an innocent bystander. I didn't know he was married, with two kids two years younger than me. It wasn't my fault, I'm in the 8th grade. I seen my enemy point the gun at me. It's kill or be killed, I shot him 6 times. I'm gonna do life for this. It wasn't even my gun it was my brother's.
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It's December 23rd 1988. I'm 17 years old, I'm coming out of the record store. My friend Pat sees me, he asks me what's in the shopping bag I'm holding. I tell him it's a concert t shirt. Christmas present for Benjy are friends and my best friend pet looks at me a little funny and Pat's only 14 at the time but he's already cooler than I will ever be in my entire life so when he looks at me like that I always pay attention that tells me that guys don't buy Christmas presents for other guys and especially surprise Christmas presents he tells me that he's had girlfriends for like six months and never bought them a thing so for me to buy denji a Christmas present is a little odd.
I'm suddenly feeling very self-conscious about the betta fish in the backseat of my car that I bought at the pet store for Pat like an hour ago and the comic books for food and the sweatshirt for Tom and all the presents.
And I know that Pat is right that my parents might my evil stepfather and their failing marriage and no money has made every Christmas for years just a misery but for the first time in my life I have money in my pocket I'm a manager at McDonald's making $5.75 an hour working full-time while I'm in highschool and I am the richest person I know and so I'm going to use this money to buy myself a great Christmas.
I'm heading home now I need to get my uniform cuz I have a shift at McDonald's later I got to get these presents into the house. It's starting to snow out it's kind of lovely I'm driving my mother is 1976 Datson B210. It's a car about the size of a box of Pop-Tarts.
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Homeless are not a disease.
Not all homeless do drugs.
Not all homeless are thugs.
Some homeless got kicked out of parents house because of life choices.
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The Best Poem Of Michellina Cookington
People You May Know- Kevin Kantor
When my rapist showed up under the People You may know tab on Facebook it felt like the closest to the crime scene I've ever been.
That is if I don't count the clockwork murder that I make of my own memory every time that I drive down Colfax avenue.
Still, I sit in my living room, I sift for clues.
Click; I see myself caught in his teeth.
He's dancing with his shirt off in a city that I've never been to.
Click; he is eating sushi over a few beers with friends and I am under his fingernails.
Click; I know that alley.
Click; I killed the memory of that t-shirt.
Click; this is an old photograph. It's a baby picture. There's also an older man, presumably his father, they are both round and right and still smiling.
Click; he is shirtless again and I catch my reflection in the weight room mirror. "#beastmode selfie"
I call him the wolf when I write about him. The wolf, so as to make him as storybook as possible.
The wolf when I write about him which is to say, when my memory escapes the murder, or when the internet suggests it.
Facebook informs me that we have three mutual friends.
Which is to say, that he is People You May Know.
Which is to say that I am people you may know,
and there are people that know, and people that don't know.
And people that don't know, I want to know, I'm afraid to let know.
And probably people that know him, know of me, that know.
The word "know, " "know" "know"
Know is a flock of sleeping sheep sitting in my mouth and now,
now I know the wolf's middle name and what he listens to on Spotify.
And the all too familiar company that he keeps,
and he can no longer be a wolf. Or the nameless grave that I dig for myself on bad days.
We have three mutual friends on Facebook, and now it feels like they are holding the shovel.
64 people liked the shirtless gym pic.
and four people have told me they'd rather I had said nothing.
Two police officers told me, that I must give his act a name or it didn't happen.
That obviously I could have fought back.
Which is to say, no one comes running for young boys who cry rape.
When I told my brother, he also asked me why I didn't fight back.
Adam, I am. Right now. I promise.
Everyday I write a poem titled "Tomorrow"
it is a handwritten list of the people I know that love me
and I make sure to put my own name at the top. -Kevin Kantor
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