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" 'You cain't blame all what happened to Precious on me. I wanted my man for myself? " I imitate Mama.

"I wanted my man for myself! Now ain' that one to go down in the history books. Yeah, Til keep that little oP bad boy! You got a lot of time before six-thirty, why don't you git you some dinner before you run out of here?"

"I was gonna take my journal book and write on the bus, 'steadda taking the train."

She go in her pocket get out that oP blue change purse, so oP it look like somebody blue grandmother and hand me three dollars.

Something tear inside me. I wanna cry but I can't. It's like something inside me keeps ripping but I can't cry. I think how alive I am, every part of me that is cells, proteens, nutrons, hairs, pussy, eyeballs, nervus sistem, brain. I got poems, a son, friends. I want to live so bad. Mama remind me I might not. I got this virus in my body like cloud over sun. Don't know when, don't know how, maybe hold it back a long long time, but one day it's gonna rain.

I start to cry but it's 'cuz I'm mad. Miz Mom wipe my face give me two more dollars!

"Umm, I should cry more often!"

"Ain' you about a mess! Git outta here!"

I git my jacket 'n my shades. Everybody in this house go to meetings, in "recovery." What I'm in recovery for? I ain' no crack addict. I git so mad sometimes. Mama jus' pour my life down the drain like it's nothing. I got all this shit to deal wif.

"Don't forget your notebook," Miz Mom.

Everybody know I write poems. People respect me. I get outside. It's raining. Good.

The meeting is good, it's for HIV positive girls 16-21. Ms Rain say people who help you most (sometimes) is ones in the same boat. I started putting my story in the big book at school. I want to get it done before I graduate out to G.E.D.

Last week we went to the museum. A whole whale is hanging from the ceiling. Bigger than big! OK, have you ever seen a Volkswagen car that's like a bug? Um huh, you know what I'm talking about. That's how big the heart of a blue whale is. I know it's not possible, but if that heart was in me could I love more? Ms Rain, Rita, Abdul?

I would like to.

Abdul get tested. He is not HTV positive.

Something like that make me feel what Rhonda, what Farrakhan, say—there is a god. But me when I think of it I'm more inclined to go wid Shug in The Color Purple. God ain' white, he ain'

no Jew or Muslim, maybe he ain' even black, maybe he ain' even a "he." Even now I go downtown and seen the rich shit they got, I see what we got too. I see those men in vacant lot share one hot dog and they homeless, that's good as Jesus with his fish. I remember when I had my daughter, nurse nice to me— all that is god. Shug in Color Purple say it's the "wonder" of purple flowers. I feel that, even though I never seen or had no flowers like what she talk about.

I'm not happy to be HIV positive. I don't understand why some kids git a good school and mother and father and some don't. But Rita say forgit the WHY ME shit and git on to what's next.

I don't know what's next. I took the TABE test again, this time it's 7.8. Ms Rain say quantum leap! Like I was one place and instead of step up, it's a leap! What does that score actually mean? I read according to the test around 7th or 8th grade level now. Before on test I score 2.0

then 2.8. The 2.0 days was really low days because I could not read at all (test just give you 2.0 even if you don't fill in nothing). I got to get up to the level of high school kids, then college kids.

I know I can do this. Ms Rain tell me don't worry it's gonna work out. I still got time.

It's Sunday, no school, meetings. I'm in dayroom at Advancement House, sitting on a big leather stool holdin' Abdul. The sun is coming through the window splashing down on him, on the pages of his book. It's called The Black BC's. I love to hold him on my lap, open up the world to him.

When the sun shine on him like this, he is an angel child. Brown sunshine. And my heart fill.

Hurt One year? Five? Ten years? Maybe more if I take care of myself. Maybe a cure. Who knows, who is working on shit like that? Look his nose is so shiny, his eyes shiny. He my shiny brown boy.

In his beauty I see my own. He pulling on my earring, want me to stop daydreaming and read him a story before nap time. I do.

Reading 1 MWF 9-12 a.m.

Higher Education Alternative / Each One
Teach One

Blue Rain, Instructor

everi mornin by Precious j .

Everi mornin

i write

a poem

before I go to

school

marY Had a little lamb

but I got a kid

an HIV

that folow me

to school

one day.

mornm by Precious Jones

Mornin is a rooteen up at 6 a.m. wash teef, dress wash Abdul teef, face, booty

dress him Breakfast for kids

we go to kitchen

fix him something

good from what's there

what's there for baby

is good oatmeal cream wheat rice cream appul sauc

or egg toast

bacon I don't let Abdul eat bacon Put Abdul wif a kiss

in nother woman arms

rootine b r e a k i run get dress

fix tea (don't like coffee) grab books walk mornin wet the streets amung the vakent trees is secrit plots of green diamonds call grass.

MY LIFE by Rita Romero

Our house, which was an apartment, was full of beautiful stuff—velvet couch, lace curtain, virgin statues, candles, and chandeliers. My mother was like a medium. Not santeria—throw shells, yellow flowers for Oshun and all that but more the gypsy trip—cards and crystal ball. Always people in and out our house; nice people, give me a caramel or sourball, pat on the head. My mother was dark, moreno? Like we got 1 million words for color, Puerto Ricans. But to me, everyone, she was beautiful. She look like, you ever seen that movie star from way back, Dorothy Dandridge—that' s what Mami look like, only Mami's hair is like a black river, thick long down her back. Eyes, I always think Mami's eyes is olives. Black things that could see but so rich you could eat. Maybe, I giggle, if you could eat Mami's eyes you could see in the crystal ball too.

My father honestly I don't remember him so much even though I know he was there everyday. I know he is white because he tells me this, tells me I am white. I wanna be what Mami is, not what he is. Mami says he is just another brainwashed spic. He had a shop on Tremont Ave where he work on wreck cars. From Mami is beans and rice, roast pork, flan, the pink and yellow lace dresses I wear to Mass. From him is be quiet be quiet go help your mother clean this place up it's a mess it's a mess speak English speak English SPEAK ENGLISH. It's because of him I don't speak Spanish. He tell Mami talk English talk English make the kids speak English. You want 'em to grow up like you puta can't get a job. Puta, whore bitch I know what you're doing with these guys while I'm out working my ass off. I ever catch I kill you whore, hear me I kill you. Then he grab me, hold out my arm next to his, see SEE. Look he says you are WHITE. You are not no nigger morena puta WHORE. He's crazy he don't make sense. Momi is not that. He scream at

Mami, "My kids are WHITE!" Mami just look scared.

I'm six years old. The walls of the room are maroon. The velvet couch with the white lace doilies is the same color as the wall. It is so pretty. It's my favorite. In the middle is the dark wood table with the crystal ball. Lace curtains is on the window. The shades is drawn. What's inside is prettier, outside is just a brick wall. The table has a glass top on it. The edges of the glass where it's cut is green colored, I like that.

The crystal ball is big. "Mami is at the table, her hair is black down her back, her lips like red movie star lips, eyes black like oil, looking at me.

She hands me a sourball, it's my favorite; it's melting in my mouth. By the time it melts I know she be going shoo shoo Negra, I got someone coming. Meaning one of the worry face clients talking in Spanish about somebody dead, in jail or in the arms of another, would be there.

But the taste of the sour ball stays on my tongue forever. It's Papi walk through the door. He don't say Mamita, he say Bitch! You think I'm crazy. I KNOW que tu puede. I KNOW PUTA! And he pull gun from his pants, shoot Mami— bang bang bang. Her brains fly out her head her mouth open blood blood blood everywhere, it look like one olive is hanging out her head like a man off a cliff.

She never speak nothing, fall out chair, go gurgle sound, more blood fall out her mouth. Her dress, hair, the carpet is red. Papi standing there, start crying.

If I close my eyes I could see Puerto Rico—

someplace water is blue jewels, palm trees, mangoes, music like Willie Colon all the time. But I never been there. Would it be different if I had been born there steadda here? He kill her there steadda here? What's the difference? Go back?

To where you never been? I'm better off here with the AIDS thing and stuff. The health care ain't shit here for addicts but it's better than P.R.

my brother say. He went to P.R. die. I got friends here and stuff.

Ms Rain, senora La Lluvia, ask me to write more, write about my life now. Just talk some more in the tape recorder and she transcribe it. What life? Foster care, rape, drugs, prostitution, HIV, jail, rehab. Everybody like to hear that story. Tell us more tell us more more MORE about being a dope addict and a whore! Puta tecata puta tecata. But I tell you what I want, it's my book—

we had a nice place, velvet things, lace curtains, the crystal ball. I ask her once my hand in the black river of her hair, my eyes looking up at hers, her caramel color skin, red movie lips, the perfume from her like a pink and purple dream—

show me Mami how to see. Show me what's inside

the crystal ball. She look at it a long time then say, Ann Negri ta, you don' t want to know.

MY YOUNGER YEARS by Rhonda Patrice Johnson

My younger years was actually spend in Jamaica which is where my family is from. It was me my brother and my mother and father who we call Ma and Pop. Things was good there until Pop die then we didn't have money so we move to the U.S. For me that is when the problem start. What the problem is is hard to say but it was with my brother.

My mother git a restaurant on 7th Ave. between 132nd and 133rd selling West Indian take out. I work in the restaurant from git up in the morning to go to bed at night. I don't go to school even. I could read and write some but when we got here I was twelve already and hadn't been going to school for a long time in Jamaica. So my mother say, you almost grown so what's the use. But Kimberton, he's my brother go to school. A lot go for Kimberton—clothes, bicycle, computer toy.

He is one year younger than me. I wash down the kitchen, scrub pots, pans, grill, all that! Go to the big market with Ma at Hunt's Point. Go to La Marqueta on Lexington with Ma. I make peas and rice, roti, cod fish cakes, goat curry, all that!

The people that want eat in we got two little tables in the front near the window. I serve people.

I fourteen when Kimberton start leaning on me. I don't know how else to tell it.

"Ma, Kimberton leaning on me."

"What you telling?"

"He bothering me."

"Leave his computer stuff alone and he will leave your dolls alone."

That's what he used to do in Jamaica, break my dolly's head or arm off. I mean something different now. He is the same size as me. I try to fight him. We sleep in same room. He wait until I am sleep. I awake Kimberton standing over me on top the bed naked as the day he born. Thing like a donkey's. I don't want it. My skin get bad. I don't know if it's from that. I get a lot of pounds on me. I'm always a quiet girl, I don't say NOTHING now unless some one speak me.

I tell her again when I am 16. Kim-berton is fifteen but he skipped a grade in elementary school so he is in his second year of high school.

Going to be a doctor. "You going to be a doctor!"

my mother tell him, "What you think I'm working for, for you to be a god damn taxi driver!" the question I ask myself is, what am I working for.

"Ma. "

"What!"

"Kimberton is ... is molesting with me at night." I don't know how to say it. I can't say rape, that's not what brothers do to sisters.

"Molesting with you? What kinda talk is that?"

"You know-"

"No, I don't know! Miss Fresh."

"He come over my side of the room at night and intercourse me."

She get quiet quiet. I smell the curry goat stewing, peas 'n rice. I can see through the glass door of refrigerator bottles of ginger beer, 7UP, Cokes and maubey lined.

"Tell me what you talking about."

I tell her.

She say get out my house now. I say but Ma!

Leave now she start screaming 'bout what I done to her son. Filthy haint, night devil walker she call me. I am shocked. I think I am still in that shock sometimes.

But it's like that sometime you know. I done found out over the years you just can't guess how people is gonna react. You think common sense would make her come out on my side. You know, mother daughter, but it didn't happen that way. She was screaming 'bout how I was the oldest coulda shoulda stopped him. what I believe is she think Kimberton gonna be big doctor one day and retire her from working twenty-four seven. An* if someone got to go it not gonna be him.

part two MY GROWN UP YEARS

I'm twenty-four years old it's been eight years since I "left" (I put it like that cause you know how I left) my mother's house. Kimberton, he is dentist. Was a dentist, maybe he is, maybe he beat the case—he get charged by young girl's parents of trying to stick his finger (and who knows what else) up her pussy while he spozed to be fixing teeth! Far out huh? Ma tell me this. I don't go visit but I see her out on street when she doing her shopping. We talk like I'm her daughter that got married and move out or go away to nurse school or some such. I don't know, I just go along with the program. Ma say it's all lies, girl's parents just trying to extort him. But what I think is he pull his shit on the wrong one. You can't get away with everything all the time with everybody.