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| “I was told to dream — dream big,” Credit Jasmine Clarke for The New York Times |
LITANY
I wish I knew how
It would feel to be free
I wish I could break
All the chains holding me
—Nina Simone
today i am a black woman in america
& i am singing a melody ridden lullaby
it sounds like:
the gentrification of a brooklyn stoop
the rent raised three times my wages
the bodega and laundromat burned down on the corner
the people on the corner
each lock & key their chromosomes
a note of ash & inquiry on their tongues
today i am a black woman in a hopeless state
i will apply for financial aid and food stamps
with the same mouth i spit poems from
i will ask the angels of a creative god to lessen
the blows
& i will beg for forgiveness when i curse
the rising sun
today, i am a black woman in a body of coal
i am always burning and no one knows my name
i am a nameless fury, i am a blues scratched from
the throat of ms. nina—i am always angry
i am always a bumble hive of hello
i love like this too loudly, my neighbors
think i am an unforgiving bitter
sometimes, i think my neighbors are right
most times i think my neighbors are nosey
today, i am a cold country, a storm
brewing, a heat wave of a woman wearing
red pumps to the funeral of my ex-lover's
today, i am a woman, a brown and black &
brew woman dreaming of freedom
today, i am a mother, & my country is burning
and i forget how to flee
from such a flamboyant backdraft
—i’m too in awe of how beautiful i look
on fire
Originalmente publicado en Poem-a-Day 25/05/2016, por Academy of American Poets
THIS IS THE HONEY
There is no room on this planet for anything less than a miracle
We gather here today to revel in the rebellion of a silent tongue
Every day, we lean forward into the light of our brightest designs
& cherish the sun
Praise our hands & throats
each incantation, a jubilee of a people dreaming wildly
Despite the dirt
beneath our feet
or the wind
pushing against
our greatest efforts
Soil creates things
Art births change
This is the honey
& doesn’t it taste like a promise?
Where your heart is an accordion
& our laughter is a soundtrack
Friend, dance to this good song—
look how it holds our names!
Each bone of our flesh-homes sings welcome
O look at the Gods dancing
as the rain reigns against a steely skyline
Where grandparents sit on the porch & nod at the spectacle
in awe of the perfection of their grandchildren’s faces
Each small discovery unearthed in its own outpour
Tomorrow our daughters will travel the world with each poem
& our sons will design cities against the backdrops of living museums
Yes! Our children will spin chalk until each equation bursts a familial tree
Rooted in miraculous possibilities
& alive
(California, EE.UU., 1976)
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