Rainclouds tap against the windowscreen
the water droplets are cut to pieces by the criss-cross of a flimsy material.
a grey sunlight washes over the complex
a morning with a returned grandfather
Flip through pages, scribble somethin’ down here and there
keep adjustin’ the thin, steel spiral of that battered notebook
fluorescence spills from the kitchen into an open-air space
it smells of coffee and cigarettes, topped off with a swig of Smirnoff
A small joint is lit, breakfast on the living room table
a ballad and a two-step play somewhere
a 90s B-list thriller on the television
small stories exchanged between three generations
White walls covered in small marks of life, three people clad in Black t-shirts,
a newly-appreciated grandfather and reflective father
a long-absent father and bumbling son
a forsaken son and often-missed grandson
Tylyn K. Johnson (he/they) is a part-time writer from Indianapolis, IN. He writes to reflect the traditions of storytelling and empowerment he comes from through the framed lenses of Black and Queer artistry. Their language has appeared in the lickety~split, Brainchild Magazine, Queen Spirit Magazine, and Rigorous, among other spaces. A recipient of the 2021 Myong Cha Son Haiku Award, they performed readings and obtained multiple writing awards at the University of Indianapolis, where they received their BSW. Tylyn is also the creator of Communal Creativity: A Game of Poetry. His projects and social media can be found at https://linktr.ee/tykywrites. (@TyKyWrites on Instagram and Twitter).