First American Sonnet
by Jae Nichelle
—after Wanda Coleman
America owes to my people some of the dividends.
She can afford to pay and she must pay. —Sojourner Truth
after June. after Toni. after Grace Wisher’s small hands,
my country, a bruise-spangled prayer chasing
a dangled dream, after Brown(ness) vs. governing bodies,
after strangled song, hymn & blues, after writing
negro anthems & records & love down, down, after down
bad & good stank, after cursive curses angled angry
& planted near oak & moss, after all the black folk tales,
wrangled histories & capital T Talks, what’s after
language? who is coming? who will keep coming
after us? you, sew our banner a color after red,
deep maroons, disentangled cotton thread, blanket
these whole damn states in mural, there be our figures
beyond figuring, our rage & noise, our native words, &—after
& including myself—an uncountable number of stars.