“The Things Growing Next Door” (POEM)

THE THINGS GROWING NEXT DOOR

By Farah Lawal Harris, 2025

*Written in response to a prompt by Rebecca Dupas

5 floors

10 apartments each

carpeted hallways

creaky elevator

1st generation kids

knick-a-knockin,

then 8 to 14 pre-teen feet

sprint down hallways

into 1 of 2 echoey staircases.

4 to 7 ha-ha-has sound like

an ampitheatre of freedom at 116.

1 angry neighbor slams a door—

about 1/3 of them yell—

as childlike glee grows

stronger with rebellion.

Inside, I dreamt

of the things growing next door.

Locked in, tucked away from social decay.

Bad influences basked in the sun

til the street lights came on;

I went dormant, hibernated all summer long.

Daddy didn’t want me copycatting

the things growing next door.

I did my darnedest

to grow like them anyway,

bangin busty body as a teen

that tempted and teased, tongue slick

with white lies and profanity,

the tendency to thrill-seek

and a mind determined to leave 116.

The things growing next door enticed me

until I saw what existed beyond

Maple and Lee,

peeped that real life extends past blocks,

drives faster than Daddy’s taxi,

is full of false stops

and as many starts as I please.

Each spring, I plant seeds,

praying mine won’t long to play

with children left behind unsupervised.

Though most of my childhood friends thrive,

many died before their time.

Though I worship sunlight,

I learned to rely

on the things growing inside.