A firm hand. The shadow waves of satin.
I am not yet flesh. He calls me baby,
and I touch my face. I’m searching for god
when I oil my body in the mirror. To love it
means to love a man means an opening
to another man. When I take my glasses off
all the lines blur. A body is a body without
language, I tell my girlfriend and she laughs,
mouth wide enough to hide in. She shows me
my softest parts. I dissolve into what. I forget
hiding also means a good beating, the way
passion can be suffering. I can’t believe
my whole life I never touched what made me
holy. We have bread, butter and nowhere to be.
Copyright © 2022 by Dujie Tahat. Originally published in Poem-a-Day on October 26, 2022, by the Academy of American Poets.
I tried to write about hope
But wasn’t sure I had the audacity
The pandemic took a toll
And our last president was a fascist
He
Said he did more for Christianity
Than Jesus
And between the BLM protest and right wing hatred we just
Stayed inside and tried to live
Contemplating if loans would be forgiven
To provide a little relief
We were safe at home but had to march in the streets
To beats
Of Black Lives Matter
See I was flattered
To be part of the Healthcare Hero’s
Until I start telling the truth and the death toll added zeros
And zeros
Until the number reached 100000
And still people believed it was a hoax
And wouldn’t wear masks in public places
The deck was stacked against us and the government held
Aces
But they underbid as the death toll continued to rise
But as the number grew there were fewer tears from eyes
Of the privileged
Because big business needed that money
Propaganda had normal people acting funny
Yet still I dared to hope
Until I couldn't breathe as
George Floyd choked and his killer walked the streets free
See
We're going back into summer
But instead of George Floyd the name we will march to is
Daunte Wright
And we again will wear our masks as we continue to fight
Systems of oppression
The National Guards were called and wore bullet proof vest
When we said Black Lives Matter
But were nowhere to be seen when the right wing
Unhinged the government’s seat of power
And the hours
Continued to tick on
525600 deaths but rent wasn’t on
But Nurses were on
The verge of a mental break down every day
Saving lives of the people who claimed don’t tread on me
And yet I say I’m going to write about hope
As a black woman in America it’s impossible not to choke
On the repetitious contradictions
Vaccines vs quarantine things while the seams are bursting
On the national debt
“Make 600 dollars enough” because it’s all you gone get
As you try to survive this crisis
Going hungry while giving the nation its slice is
Your patriotic duty
I’m a poet and I know it sounds looney
That I can’t write about hope
2020 had me riding a high worse than dope
And when I came down it was comparative to death
Knowing that nothing would change
So I inhale and deep breath
And continue to think about hope
Copyright © 2022 by Ashanti Files. Used with permission of the author.
The world is a beautiful place
to be born into
if you don’t mind happiness
not always being
so very much fun
if you don’t mind a touch of hell
now and then
just when everything is fine
because even in heaven
they don’t sing
all the time
The world is a beautiful place
to be born into
if you don’t mind some people dying
all the time
or maybe only starving
some of the time
which isn’t half so bad
if it isn’t you
Oh the world is a beautiful place
to be born into
if you don’t much mind
a few dead minds
in the higher places
or a bomb or two
now and then
in your upturned faces
or such other improprieties
as our Name Brand society
is prey to
with its men of distinction
and its men of extinction
and its priests
and other patrolmen
and its various segregations
and congressional investigations
and other constipations
that our fool flesh
is heir to
Yes the world is the best place of all
for a lot of such things as
making the fun scene
and making the love scene
and making the sad scene
and singing low songs of having
inspirations
and walking around
looking at everything
and smelling flowers
and goosing statues
and even thinking
and kissing people and
making babies and wearing pants
and waving hats and
dancing
and going swimming in rivers
on picnics
in the middle of the summer
and just generally
‘living it up’
Yes
but then right in the middle of it
comes the smiling
mortician
From A Coney Island of the Mind, copyright © 1955 by Lawrence Ferlinghetti. Reprinted by permission of New Directions Publishing Corp.