By Danny Vazquez
Wild, curly hair, and the spirit of a lion. The baby boy wants to roam. But he is crying.
He wants to play. But he is crying. He wants to twist, jump, kick and strike the air. But he is
crying. He wants to breathe freely. He wants to sing. But the baby boy is crying.
The chair. The hush from mom. The glare from dad. Everywhere impulse is shackled
by—by what exactly? Why do I feel as though I am in chains? Why am I moved to solidarity
with this baby boy resisting arrest at the café table in front of me?
I am slouched. My laptop is open. The NJ Transit bus halts beyond the window. The
words on the bus read, ‘Standing Room Only.’ I lock eyes with a passenger. She is sitting. What
happened between me and her? Nothing.
I am 27 years old. I am writing. But the baby boy is crying.
Daniel Elijah Vazquez is a lifelong resident of the Ironbound, of Spanish and Cuban descent, and a alumnus of Rutgers University-Newark. He enjoys walking, running, juggling, and playing pick-up soccer.
Featured image by Pexels