Jeannetta Craigwell-Graham

There is a new woman in your apartment. What happened to the other woman? Tall like you. Blonde like you. I hope you haven’t broken up.   But if you have: please consider, for a split second– Me.   Me and you began the day you moved in. From the balcony of my illegal sixth floor walkup, I peered into your curtainless life. I was tired of onion peeler ads and videos of black men poked into hermit crab positions, playing Jesus in my daughter’s Mary Magdalene roleplay (her chest packed with hormonal mandarins) and my boyfriend’s “Aren’t you concerned about the…