Matthew Johnson

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Harlem at Dusk (End of the Renaissance)

A saxophonist plays alone on his stoop,
Watching his notes drift down to the storm drain,
Where the end of Prohibition spills its liquid gold;
Both are lost together, as they are pulled into the gutter.

Apartment lights stay off, and it’s not because of good lovin’.
Breadlines run longer than the nightclub crowd
That once curled around the avenue.
Harlem hums with the echoes of the geniuses
Who, if not become starving artists, have gone on strict diets.  

In the spring of ‘35, rage boils over,
And black people are killed again;
Thus goes the way of dreams…

Matthew Johnson is the author of multiple poetry collections, including Jackie Robinson's Real Gone: Baseball Poems of New York (Cornerstone Press). His poetry has appeared in Apple Valley Review, Heavy Feather Review, London Magazine, and elsewhere. A recipient of multiple Pushcart Prize and Best of the Net nominations, support from the Emily Dickinson Museum and Hudson Valley Writers Center, as well as a finalist for the Diverse Voices Book Award (Grand View University) and E.E. Cummings Poetry Award (New England Poetry Club), he’s managing editor of Portrait of New England and the poetry editor of The Twin Bill. www.matthewjohnsonpoetry.com