DAWN

Y’all don’t know nothing about dribbling in the dark.

But don’t trip, I’mma teach you.

Nah, but seriously,

that’s the first lesson:

Because we got mad potholes on the West Side,

especially in Marshall Grove.

Blame the mayor, blame the Chicago winter, blame whatever you need to.

But keep a tight dribble when the wind come, or you finna lose

your handle when the game is on the line.

You gotta know the block like I’ve known this block

all twelve years of my life.

How our pavement stay c r o o k e d

like a bad dentist so you gotta bounce the ball

extra hard just to make sure it comes back to you.

Go between your legs to avoid the big crack

on your way to the best court in Marshall Grove,

behind the church and next to my best friend, Kyla’s, crib.

Second lesson? Be there early. Get shots up when everybody sleepin’.

Before the oldheads start talkin’ ’bout Lemme get a shot!

Before the car horns blare and the first warm light.

Before the street clears out because everybody has a hustle

they need to get to.

Before I can be in anybody’s way,

I hoop all alone in the best spot in the whole hood.

In the daytime, everybody got something to say:

Aye, young blood, pass the ball,

Hey, kid, I’mma show you

something ain’t nobody seen since Jordan,

Move, young’n, we runnin’ 3s,

Yo, shouldn’t you be in school?

To them, I’m just another kid with the ball in his hand.

They don’t know

one day

I’mma be the first pick in the NBA Draft.

Third lesson? Remember my name.

It’s Malik Page.

But everybody who ain’t my momma

calls me SHAKE.



BALL IS LIFE

Even before I was coming to the court, I was at the court.

Dad would park my stroller on the sidelines

while he put up his morning free throws.

Everyone in Marshall Grove knows

not to interrupt Dad during his shots.

He says I would finally stop crying

just to see if he made the basket.

His jump shot pure

type of sweet

where the net never moves.

When I say home court, I mean home court.

Any fool can say “Ball is life”

when the summer got its arms around us

and my jersey stick to my chest

like it’s tryna double-team me.

Or when the spring comes,

and the pavement is slick with rivers

of melted snow.

But it gets empty in the fall,

when the wind kick up and the rim ain’t feeling kind.

When the court goes black with ice.

Ball is still life

even when I got so many layers on I can barely

cross up

a snowman.

I’m good now, but I’m finna be GREAT.

Because I don’t have an off-season. Summer, fall, spring, winter,

it don’t matter. If I’ve got the ball I’m going to shoot

my morning free throws.

If I’ve got the ball I’m the sun.


Copyright © 2026 by Julian Randall