I grew up in a town in Southeastern Michigan that made a list of top 10 worst small towns—but if you could visit my childhood and dreams, you would see Roseville, Michigan for its wonder, charm, and poetic beginnings.
I'm feeling nostalgic and grateful for Will Smith and DJ Jazzy Jeff this AM. Through this song, they have the power to transport me back to the summer of 1991, when I was preteen, rode my pink-seated bike around the neighborhood of 12 mile and Little Mack, climbed and slid down the hot slide on the school playground, listened to the Top Ten on my AM/FM radio late at night, melted the tar on the cracks of the streets with a magnifying glass, counted semi trucks from the pedestrian bridges that spanned I-94, the road you'd take to swim at Metro Beach.
So much stays with me: Nino, Saji, Ray and Irene. The Automotive Industry and Bundy Tubing, Quick Pick lotto/liquor/candy store, certain bumps in the sidewalks, Continental Lanes, Randazzo's, Yorgos, Po' Folks, A&P, Eastland Elementary, Sacred Heart, the Roseville Rec Center, and the Public Library--all melting pots that were messy, imperfect, and I reaped their benefit.
We moved from Roseville to Port Huron in 1992, but Roseville will forever speak to me, through me, and cuss at me, benevolently.
For those of you who are wondering, I'm on poems 9 and 10 of my #21daypoetrychallenge. The writing is going well. I'm actually updating my blog as a form of procrastination, err, I mean, poem incubation.
Here is a poem from 1991, by Maggie Anderson.