Voice Clear As
When my mom discovers heaven’s just a noise festival
the godchoir of all her loves breathing
unsnagged by asthma or Newport-dragged lung
the true song life makes untethered from a body
tugged at last from the men who hold its reins
will she blame her pastors (like I did)
for Sunday portraits of pooled white gold?
Will she miss the wooden flute of her body
mourn the days corner-propped, cloaked in dust
too pious to disturb a room’s skin cells
and stray hair with her sound
snapped awake at the nightmare of a slip fringe
the private note sung aloud?
Or, unburdened by hell
will she exhale
and hear the bells?
Copyright © 2021 by Kemi Alabi. Originally published in Poem-a-Day on June 16, 2021, by the Academy of American Poets.
“Samiya Bashir is such a brilliant poet and generous teacher. She started our 2019 Tin House Summer Workshop sessions with free-write time prompted by three random words. It’s a practice I love and have tried to keep, as it gives me surprising new containers for my obsessions. This poem began with the words ‘noise,’ ‘breathing,’ and ‘festival’ (I asked my housemate to think of three for me), and out poured some of the concerns that shape my full-length debut, Against Heaven. I want freedom here on Earth, in our lifetimes.”
—Kemi Alabi
Kemi Alabi
Born in Wisconsin in 1990, Kemi Alabi earned their BA in Philosophy and Political Science from Boston University. Their first full-length poetry collection, Against Heaven, was selected by Claudia Rankine to receive the 2021 Academy of American Poets First Book Award. They live in Chicago.