Penfort and Mount Pleasant Rd.

Trauma can subtle, slipped into everyday normality. If it’s an every day occurrence; gunfire echoing off the buildings from the corner.

Old friends picking up new clients, receiving old dollar bills - I just witnessed a drug deal beside us. This is normal.

Arguments after dark, under the spotlight of a street light, two sides bicker, attracting spectators and instigators.

Bickering gets bigger, until hands make fists, connects with chests, cheeks and hips, a frenzy of movement until the losing sides calvary comes in. Glock fired, feet scatter , spectator drops soon after, fighters and calvary flee , leaving a boy‘s body under the spotlight of the street light.

This happens often this time of year. Sirens hardly cause alarm, just another story you’ll hear about tomorrow morning.

I remember seeing blood stains on the pavement on my way to school, it gave me clues of what happened last night. Every now and then in the grass you see a syringe, so you have to tell your friends not to play on that side.

My yearbook photo from fifth grade matches up with a list of names from the states most wanted. Unfortunately, it’s not for accolades but a list of charges and accusations made to put some distance between freedom and a cage.

It isn’t always dark, but you seem to see the darkest parts in plain sight and we all calmly take notice. Moving on through the day. families grow, some leave some stay, but some are firmly rooted and never change. Gossip passes lips, poverty never slips, what’s new news to you was the word on the street last week, let’s change the subject.

Fight like hell to get up and leave, don’t get comfortable with constant worrying, what is normal is actually suffering, but you can’t believe it until you leave it.