MEDERO MOON
MEDERO MOON
PSU BLACK STUDIES, WINTER 2024
HOME
Home is the scent of my grandma’s cookin’ something from
scratch
Or the loud smell of Bleach from her scrubbing her floors
on her hands n’ knees
Home is Candy N Brick barkin’ everytime someone passes by
Candy is a red nose Pit n’ Brick is Just Brick
Loud bark but candy had a vicious bite
Home is my pops waking me up for school asking me
is it sharp or colobo
He already knows what I say so he lays my favorite
outfit for the day
A fresh button up, with some 501 jeans but it’s my fake
Snake skin cowboy boots that sets off everything
Home is mandatory family meetings on the weekend
You wanna show yo azz and best believe
You were getting 3 of the best, Mr Bizness wasn’t no
Joke you have screaming n’ crying like you’re
Losin’ a piece of your soul
Damn what I would do to eat my grandmother’s home
Cookin’ hear the dogs ‘outside barkin’ or my pops
Telling me to keep alive n’ I still have time
Home is where my heart secretly yearns to be
in the moment home is right in front of me
KING
NARRATIVE
I am proud to say that I’m tru King School Baby! I attended every grade from kindergarten up to the 5th grade. My first grade teacher name was Mrs. Dorcey, she was a sweet ol’ lady who loved all her students equally regardless of the color of their skin. Belonging to her class gave you a sense of honor and pride. It was a privilege to say you were in Mrs. Dorcey's class.
3rd grade is when my teachers started noticing I was struggling academically. As a child I always felt inadequate intellectually. I believe that’s why I was acting out my feelings of anger, fear, and shame. I had many fights on the playground associated because of this.
At King school you definitely had to prove you belong. A predominantly all Black school wasn’t nobody getting any pass.
Me and my friends who would hang out after school and wait until everybody would leave the building. Then we would climb all the way to the roof-top. Even though we were all young and had no business being up there we all had the foresight to see how beautiful and peaceful it was up there, I felt free.
Walking to and from school was always an adventure. Skipping class to go to Jack’s Store for some fried chicken n’ jojo’s. King School is one of Portland’s well known Black schools. Many generations of Black families have attended there. Majority of these families no longer live in the King district. No matter what, King still remains.
KING SCHOOL & MRS. DORCEY
POEM #2
I'm talking about KING Elementary
Off of Grand and Going St.
Mrs. Dorcey was my 1st grade teacher
My 1st Black teacher
She was more than just a teacher
She was our GOD mother, sent from HEAVEN
She helped raise us, took us to church on Sundays
She open her home and fed us when hungry
Poured her love into us when thirsty.
Mrs. Dorcey loved her kids, she didn't see color
All she seen was sweet youthful faces, kissed by
Summer
Dr. King taught us to have a DREAM
I wish we were taught about the Black Panther Party
And their survival plans
Or how the Portland chapter started
A Free Breakfast for Kids program
I will forever love Dr. King and Mrs. Dorcey
PHAT CHARLES STORE
NARRATIVE #2
Going to St Market was my neighborhood corner store. A Black man by the name of pHat Charles owned the store. He was a massive dark skinned brotha’. Bruh was a huge dude! He had to weigh every bit of 400 plus! Whenever he pulled up to the store and got out of his car the entire left side would lean. He also had a very deep voice. I can still hear him telling me and my friends to stop hanging out on the side of the store.
When I was young n’ I would make at least one trip to the store a day. Sometimes my father would send me with a note to buy him his cigarettes, other times it was to let Mr. Charles knew that the family needed a few food items and that he would make sure to pay for them at the beginning of the week. Phat Charles was koo’ like that, where he understood sometimes you didn’t always have the money to purchase the basic.
There was another time when I stole Mr. Sailor Boy’s truck from on the side of the store and when Phat Charles found out what happened and heard there were kids hanging out there. He already knew who did it, and was like “that was Rob’s son he stays down the street”. To put some respect on Mr. Phat Charles Name, he was so much more than just a Black owner of a astore, he was a pillar as well as a gate-keeper to the community. He was a provider when our families didn’t have money to give. Through that little corner store on Going St. connected our community in a way greater than our understanding.
HOME
NARRATIVE #3
The brick house on the corner next to where the stop sign and the red Benz is parked, was the house I grew up in. Me and my family stayed there from the early 90s to 2013. If you were to count six to seven cars down the same side of the street is where my grandma Annie stayed on Mallory and Mason St.
This was the neighborhood that helped raise and shape my identity. We were a village and everyone looked out for one another on this block. Growing up as a child I never knew who my bio father was because he simply wasn’t around. My mother is Native American and she moved from her tribe in Northern Calif — Hoop A to Portland in the Early 80’s. It was around this time she met my step father who took me and my mother in and treated me like I was his own. He was a Black man and an amazing father. May he rest in peace. Him and my mother moved in with my grandmother until they were able to get their lives back on track.
It was during this time we moved up the street to Mallory and Going, into the brick house on the corner. In the early 90s this neighborhood was predominantly Black. The Holloway family lived directly next door to us. Mrs. Davis lived next to them. Mrs. Douglas stayed next to her and Mrs. Louis and Mario lived across the street. Even though the neighborhood was known to be violent, and had a lot of gang activities out of respect for my father, the older gang members would never try to recruit me. I always felt safe in my neighborhood like I had this unspoken connection to it, like this is where I belong. Moving forward to 2024, none of those families I name live on this block anymore. A lot of these families have been displaced or simply pushed out. No more kids laughing and playing outside. Just cold stares like you don’t belong here, root shock! No matter how much the culture has shifted on this block here it will forever remain HOME!
KING SCHOOL
Dr. King
Had a dream
He also preach to love our enemies
Why wasn't any love shown to Kendra James
When the police took her life over nothing
Just another shattered dream …
Wish i was taught survival plans
In how my class is really lumpen
Or what about the free breakfast for kids
Program at Highland?
My 1st grade teacher Mrs. Dorcey
Embodied both Dr King N the Black Panther
Party spirit.
She poured her love 'n to all of our hearts
She even planted seeds of knowledge into our
Young minds N watch them grow
She taught us how we were the future
N that it's better to spread love
Over hate N how we all
Would have to stick together if we wanted
To see better days. | MM