JR.

This is your point of view. Learn. Be yourself. Eyes. I am you. Form. I am you. Buckled.

You are the sun used; and you don’t even see yourself here.

Day by day because we find that you are basically not me, I hear you in dawn’s washed face, in every saved dollar, in every tortured tongue twisting into prayer. I hear how you are quick more than story.

Listening to us our lives- that’s my grandfather. Opening up our plans, cornering our colors- that’s my grandmother. There here now, everyone the table. Brown grains taking away nothing, legs the edge of knowing all the way out to common sense- that’s the children thirsting for life. Joists squaring away my resistance- my soul counted out.

I am here and I cannot apologize for that wrap around and make you float remedy or recipe I keep in us. Our memories, the scoring of creation, that silent hum of intersections, hanging doors, within every window, the resilience of Anansi’s web, the centering Four Mountains, the creativity of ancestors who planned to thrive.

I hear myself. I say thanks to God and my family.

I brush my hair. I button my shirt. I stand up straight and follow the work. I am a man.

I AM A MAN MONOLOGUE- JR. (The above lines are for a character in my screenplay, The Table. The sentiment and meaning of this monologue do not necessarily express my personal views.)

By Jeremiah Burns Copyright C 2018 All Rights Reserved.