Introduction by Samia Mimo

It is a pleasure to introduce Shayna Wilson to Matter readers. In this folio of poetry, Wilson turns a refined and intimate eye towards her own life. Crossing 96th St follows the gentrification and red-lining of Manhattan through her devotion to 96th Street. Despite the mischaracterization of her home, Wilson insists change can be made because “if policy build the divide / policy can dismantle it / block / by / block.” However, Wilson’s second poem focuses inward. You Melt My Heart intertwines the deep mutual love between the speaker and her grandmother, and the quiet, accumulating guilt of not reaching out more often. This poignant poem deals with the balance of love and distance by questioning why “its hardest / to return love / to the ones who give it freely.” Across these poems, Wilson explores complicated histories and private tenderness in a single frame, while dealing with how love can foster. 

Crossing 96th Street

Five apartments shaped my childhood,

their ceilings watching my growing body

as if they were witnesses

to every version of me I evolved to be.

With each move, my eyes widened.

Not just in age,

but in awareness.

I learned Manhattan speaks its biggest truths

in the smallest distances.

From the Upper East Side’s pristine streets,

grand brownstones lining each block,

tree-lined sidewalks swept clean

before most people woke,

and then across 96th street-

the heartbeat of Harlem,

where something in the air

shifted.

                                              Sidewalks grew cracked,

                                              and corners collected trash

                                              that never seemed to leave.

                                              Some blocks were loved,

                                              others neglected.

                                              Long before I learned of redlining,

                                              I felt its outline

                                                              under 

                                                              my 

                                                              feet.

                                                             1930 maps drawn

                                                             with biased hands, painted

                                                                                              Black,

                                                                                              Latino,

                                                                                              and immigrant neighborhoods

                                              with warning labels: Hazardous, risky, undesirable.

                                              Families locked out of mortgages,

                                              denied homes and investments,

                                              while desirable white neighborhoods

                                              were showered with loans, development, and opportunity.

                                              Those red lines never faded-

                                              they seeped into the concrete.

                                              I now walk along their consequences 

                                              every single day.

A mere ten blocks

separate my Harlem home

from the Upper East Side.

Yet the difference stretches farther

than any map could measure.

The cute cafes and bookstores

that once felt ordinary

now feel like luxuries

I no longer see.

                                              Instead,

                                              Mc. Donald’s signs burn through the night,

                                              casting a glow over cracked storefronts

                                              where local businesses could have thrived.

                                              cherry Valley –

                                              A small chain grocery store

                                              in the place of Whole Foods –

                                              with aisles left sparse,

                                              bruised apples under buzzing lights,

                                              green lacking to the eye.

                                              Buildings sag with the weight of years;

                                              Rats slip through gaps

                                              where investors never bothered to enter.

For years,

I hesitated to bring friends home

holding my breath for their reactions:

                                              Why are there so many projects here?

                                              I almost got jumped by a homeless man!

                                              They notice the disparities

                                              between my streets and theirs.

                                              Their words press against me,

                                              like another boundary line.

But change is not too distant to reach.

New homes, rent-stabilized and standing strong,

funding flowing into worn bricks and cracks,

filling the gaps.

The question was never why some neighborhoods flourish-

the answers are written everywhere.

It is why we continue to allow others not to.

If policy build the divide,

policy can dismantle it,

block

by

block.

The next child who crosses

the 96th Street boarder

Should not feel the weight of two worlds

split by a line that never should have been drawn.

Let them walk freely,

unburdened by history’s reminiscences,

into a Manhattan where every block

is equally cared for.

You Melt My Heart

Grandma was the first person

to see me

February 28th, 2009.

The first face I saw at the hospital,

the day I was born.

It was as if that moment

stamped me onto her heart

forever.

Her contact sits in my phone-

Grandma,

beside the purple heart

I placed there at age ten.

Why did I think

a single emoji

could hold a lifetime of love?

Westchester weekends at her house,

cuddled in the cream den

beneath the fluffy Mets blanket.

Grandpa suggesting movies –

Mary Poppins, ​

Ferris Bueller’s Day Off,

Are We There Yet?

Grandma saying –

let her pick.

After many goodbye hugs and kisses,

train tracks hummed beneath me.

I pressed my forehead to the window,

Grandma getting smaller and smaller.

I could no longer see her dimples –

only the curve of her hunch

shaped by time,

wrapped in her big brown puffer.

I wish knew then

how precious it was –

seeing her mouth

through the window

you melt my heart.

At gymnastics meets

her cheers followed every flip.

While bleachers sat still,

she stood on her feet,

her high-pitched voice

ringing louder than the rest.

She loved me so endlessly

I sometimes stepped away,

unsure of how to return it-

but my presence alone

melted her heart.

High school carved a distance.

Visits turned into screens

once a week,

a month.

Her long texts

full of heart GIFs

filled the spaces I left empty.

I pinned her contact,

but even a pinned heart

can be forgotten.

My mind lost in homework,

self-centeredness,

forgetting the one

who loved me most freely.

I said tomorrow,

set reminders

that took more effort

than pressing call.

Thanksgiving came,

her surgery kept her home.

Mom offered the phone –

Grandma wants to say hi.

The phone felt heavy

with the weight of every call and text

I had let go unanswered.

Her voice was soft, drained.

Haven’t talked to you in a while.

Our small talk felt thin,

like she barely knew me now.

The usual flood of love

before every hang up

was gone.

The silence pinned me down,

my slouching body

trapped in my seat.

Now I sit with the thought

that tomorrow isn’t promised.

What if she’s gone

before I make this right?

I don’t know why its hardest

to return love

to the ones who give it freely.

She melts my heart,

so the least I can do

is call.

*

Shayna Wilson bio.

Shayna Wilson is a junior at Stuyvesant High School in New York City, where growing up in the city has shaped her awareness of the social conditions that surround her daily life. These experiences have fostered a passion for addressing issues such as homelessness from a young age. She serves as Co-President of the Homeless Coalition, a student-led club dedicated to improving the lives of people experiencing homelessness through drives, events and community initiatives. These interests inspired her to join the Writing to Make Change class offered at her school, where she began developing poetry as a way to engage with social issues and advocate for change. While her writing centers on social justice, her primary academic interest lies in astrobiology and human performance in space. She is a mentee at the Mason Lab in New York City and a Neumann Nexus Fellow, and she hopes to further her knowledge in this STEM field.