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i stand before you to say
that today i walked home
& caught the light through
the fence & it was so golden
i wanted to cry & i lifted
my right hand to say thank
you god for the sun thank
you god for a chain link fence
& all the shoes that fit into
the chain link fence so that
we might get lifted god thank
you & i just wanted to dance
& it feels good to have food
in your belly & it feels good
to be home even when home
is the space between metal
shapes & still we are golden
& a man who wore the walk
of hard grounds & lost days
came toward me in the street
& said ‘girl what a beautiful
day’ & i said yes, testify
& i walked on & from some
place a horn rose, an organ,
a voice, a chorus, here to tell
you that we are not dead
we are not dead we are not
dead we are not dead we are
not dead we are not dead
we are not dead we are not
dead
yet

Eve L. Ewing is a poet, essayist, and sociologist of education.

Themes

About this Poem

“In times of grief, it’s easy to take account of the world’s many hurts; poets like Ross Gay have taught me never to do so at the expense of its delights. I wrote this poem at the home of my dear friend Hanif Abdurraqib. It calls upon me to think of friendship and upon the reader to count the blessings of a day. It’s a nod to the Black church practice of testifying—of standing before a listener to bear witness to the ways you have been saved, blessed, and protected.”
—Eve L. Ewing

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More by this poet

The Discount Mega Mall (in memoriam)

for you
i trace
the
letters
of my
name
in the
air
with my
pinky
like a
gold
necklace
like a

Eve L. Ewing

2018

I come from the fire city.

i come from the fire city / fire came and licked up our houses, lapped them up like they were nothing / drank them like the last dribbling water from a concrete fountain / the spigot is too hot to touch with your lips be careful / fire kissed us and laughed / and even now the rust climbs the walls, red ivy / iron fire and the brick blossoms florid / red like stolen lipstick ground down to a small flat earth / stand on any corner of the fire city, look west to death / the red sun eats the bungalows / the fire city children watch with their fingers in their mouths / to savor the flaming hots

Eve L. Ewing

2018

I saw Emmett Till this week at the grocery store

looking over the plums, one by one
lifting each to his eyes and
turning it slowly, a little earth,
checking the smooth skin for pockmarks
and rot, or signs of unkind days or people,
then sliding them gently into the plastic.
whistling softly, reaching with a slim, woolen arm

Eve L. Ewing

2018

Poems

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