JASON REYNOLDS

writin' and whatnot

Crumbs

I told my motherI wanted to be a star Something bright Something everybody Could see Could gaze at In the dark A miracle

She said stars are beautiful But not nearly as beautiful As small pit fires Built with sticks And dried leaves Nature's messy crumbs A flammable patchwork Built by wrinkled hands Bent backs And God-breath That make Something bright Something everybody Can see Can gaze at In the dark

But most importantly Something everybody Can get close enough to To feel