Kwame Alexander: The Crossover

Well, it wasn’t the right behavior, but

the intention was righteous.

You were there for each other.

I want you both

to always be there

for each other.

Jordan starts crying.

Mom holds him,

and takes him outside

for a walk.

Me and Dad stare

at each other

for ten minutes

without saying a word.

I tell him,

I don’t have anything to say.

Filthy, silence doesn’t mean

we have run out of things to say,

only that we are trying

not to say them.

So, let’s do this.

I’ll ask you a question,

then you ask me a question,

and we’ll just keep asking until

we can both get some answers.

Okay?

Sure, I say,

but you go first.

Questions

Have you been practicing your free throws?

Why didn’t you go to the doctor when Mom asked you?

When is the game?

Why didn’t you ever take us fishing?

Does your brother still have a girlfriend?

Are you going to die?

Do you really want to know?

Why couldn’t I save you?

Don’t you see that you did?

Do you remember I kept pumping and breathing?

Aren’t I alive?

. . . ?

Did y’all arrest Uncle Bob’s turkey? It was just criminal what he did to that bird, wasn’t it?

You think this is funny?

How’s your brother?

Is our family falling apart?

You still think I should write a book?

What does that have to do with anything?

What if I call it “Basketball Rules”?

Are you going to die?

Do you know I love you, son?

Don’t you know the big game’s tomorrow?

Is it true Mom is letting you play?

You think I shouldn’t play?

What do you think, Filthy?

What about Jordan?

Does he want to play?

Don’t you know he won’t as long as you’re in here?

Don’t you know I know that?

So, why don’t you come home?

Can’t you see I can’t?

Why not?

Don’t you know it’s complicated, Filthy?

Why can’t you call me by my real name?

Josh, do you know what a heart attack is?

Don’t you remember I was there?

Don’t you see I need to be here so they can fix the damage that’s been done to my heart?

Who’s gonna fix the damage that’s been done to mine?

Tanka for Language Arts Class

This Christmas was not

Merry, and I have not found

joy in the new year

with Dad in the hospital

for nineteen days and counting.

I don’t think I’ll ever get used to

walking home from school

alone

playing Madden

alone

listening to Lil Wayne

alone

going to the library

alone

shooting free throws

alone

watching ESPN

alone

eating doughnuts

alone

saying my prayers

alone

Now that Jordan’s in love

and Dad’s living in a hospital

Basketball Rule #9

When the game is on

the line,

don’t fear.

Grab the ball.

Take it

to the hoop.

As we’re about to leave for the final game

the phone rings.

Mom shrieks.

I think the worst.

I ask JB if he heard that.

He’s on his bunk

listening to his iPod.

Mom rushes past our room,

out of breath.

JB jumps down

from his bunk.

What’s wrong, Mom? I ask.

She says:

Dad. Had. Another. Attack.

Now. Don’t. Worry.

I’m. Going. Hospital.

See. You. Two. At. Game.

Vroooooommmmmmm.

Her car starts.

JB, what should we do? I ask.

He’s no longer listening to music,

but his tears are loud enough

to dance to.

He laces his sneakers,

runs out of our room.

The garage door opens.

I hear FLOP FLOP FLOP

from the straws

on the spokes

of his bicycle wheels

as he follows Mom

to the hospital.

I hear the clock: TICK TOCK TICK TOCK.

I hear Dad: You should play in the game, son.

A horn blows.

I hear SLAM SLAM SLAM

as I shut the door

of Vondie’s dad’s car.

I hear SCREECH SCREECH SCREECH

as we pull away

from the curb

on our way

to the county championship game.

During warm-ups

I miss four lay-ups in

a row, and Coach Hawkins says,

Josh, you sure you’re able

to play? It’s more than okay if you

need to go to the hospital with your fam—

Coach, my dad is going to be fine,

I say. Plus he wants me to play.

Son, you telling me you’re okay?

Can a deaf person write

music? I ask Coach.

He raises his eyebrows,

shakes his head, and

tells me to go sit

on the bench. I excuse myself

to the locker room

to check my cell phone,

and there are texts

from Mom.

Text Messages from Mom, Part Two

5:47

Dad’s having complications.

But he’s gonna

be fine and says

he loves you.

Good luck tonight. Dad’s

5:47

gonna be fine. Jordan says

he still doesn’t feel like

playing, but I made him

5:48

go to the game to show

support. Look for him and

don’t get lazy on your

5:48

crossover.

For Dad

My free throw flirts with the rim and

loops, twirls, for a million years,

then drops, and for once, we’re up, 49–48,

five dancers on stage, leaping, jumping

so high, so fly,

eleven seconds from sky

A hard drive, a fast break, their best player

slices the thick air toward the goal.

His pull-up jumper

floats through the net,

then everything goes slow motion:

the ball, the player . . .

Coach calls time-out

with only five seconds to go.

I wish the ref could stop

the clock of my life.

Just one more game.

I think my father is dying,

and now I am out of bounds

when I see a familiar face

behind our bench. My brother,

Jordan Bell, head buried

in Sweet Tea, his eyes

welling with horror.

Before I know it, the whistle blows,

the ball in my hand,

the clock running down,

my tears running faster.

The Last Shot

5 . . . A bolt of lightning on my kicks . . .

The court is SIZZLING

My sweat is DRIZZLING

Stop all that quivering

Cuz tonight I’m delivering

I’m driving down

the lane

SLIDING

4 . . . Dribbling to the middle, gliding like a black eagle.

The crowd is RUMBLINGRUSTLING

ROARING

Take it to the hoop.

TAKE IT TO THE HOOP

3 . . . 2 . . . Watch out, ’cuz I’m about to get D I R T Y

with it

about to pour FILTHY’S sauce all over you.

Ohhhhh, did you see McNASTY cross over you?

Now I’m taking you

Ankle BREAKING you

You’re on your knees.

Screamin’ PLEASE, BABY, PLEASE

One . . . It’s a bird, It’s a plane. No, it’s up up

uppppppppppp.

My shot is F L O W I N G, Flying, fLuTtErInG

OHHHHHHHH, the chains are JINGALING

ringaling and SWINGALING

Swish.