“If I Should Have a Daughter” (2011)

By Sarah Kay (1988-)

From B (2011)

If I should have a daughter, instead of Mom, she’s gonna call me Point B,

because that way she knows that no matter what happens,

at least she can always find her way to me.

And I’m going to paint solar systems on the backs of her hands,

so she has to learn the entire universe before she can say,

“Oh, I know that like the back of my hand.”

And she’s going to learn that this life will hit you hard in the face,

wait for you to get back up just so it can kick you in the stomach.

But getting the wind knocked out of you is the only way to remind your lungs how much they like the taste of air.

There is hurt here that cannot be fixed by Band-Aids or poetry.

So the first time she realizes that Wonder Woman isn’t coming,

I’ll make sure she knows she doesn’t have to wear the cape all by herself.

Because no matter how wide you stretch your fingers,

your hands will always be too small to catch all the pain you want to heal. Believe me, I’ve tried.

“And, baby,” I’ll tell her, “don’t keep your nose up in the air like that.

I know that trick; I’ve done it a million times.

You’re just smelling for smoke so you can follow the trail back to a burning house,

so you can find the boy who lost everything in the fire to see if you can save him.

Or else find the boy who lit the fire in the first place,

to see if you can change him.”

But I know she will anyway, so instead I’ll always keep an extra supply of chocolate and rain boots nearby,

because there is no heartbreak that chocolate can’t fix.

Okay, there’s a few heartbreaks that chocolate can’t fix.

But that’s what the rain boots are for.

Because rain will wash away everything, if you let it.

I want her to look at the world through the underside of a glass-bottom boat, to look through a microscope at the galaxies that exist on the pinpoint of a human mind, because that’s the way my mom taught me.

That there’ll be days like this.

♫ There’ll be days like this, my momma said. ♫

When you open your hands to catch and wind up with only blisters and bruises;

when you step out of the phone booth and try to fly and the very people you want to save are the ones standing on your cape;

when your boots will fill with rain,

and you’ll be up to your knees in disappointment.

And those are the very days you have all the more reason to say thank you.

Because there’s nothing more beautiful than the way the ocean refuses to stop kissing the shoreline, no matter how many times it’s sent away.

You will put the wind in winsome, lose some.

You will put the star in starting over, and over.

And no matter how many land mines erupt in a minute, be sure your mind lands on the beauty of this funny place called life.

And yes, on a scale from one to over-trusting, I am pretty damn naive.

But I want her to know that this world is made out of sugar.

It can crumble so easily,

but don’t be afraid to stick your tongue out and taste it.

“Baby,” I’ll tell her, “remember, your momma is a worrier, and your poppa is a warrior, and you are the girl with small hands and big eyes who never stops asking for more.”

Remember that good things come in threes and so do bad things.

And always apologize when you’ve done something wrong.

But don’t you ever apologize for the way your eyes refuse to stop shining.

Your voice is small, but don’t ever stop singing.

And when they finally hand you heartache,

when they slip war and hatred under your door and offer you handouts on street-corners of cynicism and defeat,

you tell them that they really ought to meet your mother.

“Somewhere in America” (2013-3014)

By Belissa Escobedo, Rhiannon McGavin, and Zariya Allen

From Brave New Voices (2014)

Here in America and every single state they have a set of standards for every subject, a collection of lessons that the teacher’s required to teach by the end of the term. But the greatest lessons you will ever teach us will not come from your syllabus. The greatest lessons you will ever teach us you will not even remember.

You never told us what we weren’t allowed to say. We just learned how to hold our tongues.

Now somewhere in America there is a child holding a copy of ‘Catcher in the Rye’ and there is a child holding a gun. But only one of these things have been banned by their state government and, it’s not the one that can rip through flesh, it’s the one that says “‘F’ You” on more pages than one.

Because we must control what people say, how they think. And if they want to become the overseer of their own selves then we’ll show them a real one.

And somewhere in America there is a child sitting at his mother’s computer reading the home page of the KKK’s website and that’s open to the public. But that child will have never read ‘To Kill a Mockingbird’ because his school has banned it for its use of the N-word.

Maya Angelou is prohibited because we’re not allowed to talk about rape in school. We are taught that just because something happens doesn’t mean we are to talk about it.

They build us brand new shopping malls so we’ll forget where we’re really standing – ON THE BONES of the Hispanics, ON THE BONES of the slaves, ON THE BONES of the Native Americans, ON THE BONES of those who fought just to speak.

Transcontinental railroads to Japanese internment camps. There are things missing from our history books. But we were taught that it is better to be silent than to make them uncomfortable.

Somewhere in America private school girls search for hours through boutiques trying to find the prom dress of their dreams; while kids on the south side spend hours searching through the lost and found ’cause winter’s coming soon and that’s the only jacket they have.

Kids are late to class for working the midnight shift. They give awards for best attendance but not for keeping your family off the streets.

These kids will call your music ghetto. They will tell you you don’t talk right. Then they’ll get in the backseat of a car with all their friends singing how they’re “‘Bout that life” and “We can’t stop.”

Somewhere in America schools are promoting self-confidence while they whip out their scales and shout out your body fat percentage in class. Where the heftier girls are hiding away and the slim fit beauties can’t help but giggle with pride.

The preppy kids go thrift shopping because they think it sounds fun. But we go ’cause that’s all we’ve got money for ’cause mama works for the city; mama only gets paid once a month.

Somewhere in America a girl is getting felt up by a grown man on a subway. She’s still in her school uniform and that’s part of the appeal. It’s hard to run in knee socks and Mary Janes and all her male teachers know it, too.

Coaches cover up star players raping freshmen after the dance. Women are killed for rejecting a date but God forbid I bring my girlfriend to prom.

A girl is blackout drunk at the after party. Take a picture before her wounds wake her. How many pixels is your sanity worth?

What’s a 4.0 to a cold jury?

What’d you learn in class today? Don’t talk loud, don’t speak loud, keep your hands to yourself, keep your head down. Keep your eyes on your own paper. If you don’t know the answer fill in C.

Always wear ear-buds when you ride the bus alone. If you think that someone’s following you pretend you’re on the phone.

A teacher never fails. Only you do.

Every state in America.

The greatest lessons are the ones you don’t remember learning.

“Sonnet 43: How Do I Love Thee?” (1847)

By Elizabeth Barrett Browning (1806-1861)

From Sonnets from the Portuguese (1850)

How do I love thee? Let me count the ways.

I love thee to the depth and breadth and height

My soul can reach, when feeling out of sight

For the ends of being and ideal grace.

I love thee to the level of every day’s

Most quiet need, by sun and candle-light.

I love thee freely, as men strive for right;

I love thee purely, as they turn from praise.

I love thee with the passion put to use

In my old griefs, and with my childhood’s faith.

I love thee with a love I seemed to lose

With my lost saints. I love thee with the breath,

Smiles, tears, of all my life; and, if God choose,

I shall but love thee better after death.

“We Real Cool” (1959)

By Gwendolyn Brooks (1917-2000)

From Selected Poems (1963)

           The Pool Players.

Seven at the Golden Shovel.

We real cool. We

Left school. We

Lurk late. We

Strike straight. We

Sing sin. We

Thin gin. We

Jazz June. We

Die soon.

For further reading: Analysis

“Did I Miss Anything?” (1993)

By Tom Wayman (1945-)

From Did I Miss Anything? Selected Poems 1973-1993 (1993)

Nothing. When we realized you weren’t here

we sat with our hands folded on our desks

in silence, for the full two hours

     Everything. I gave an exam worth

     40 percent of the grade for this term

     and assigned some reading due today

     on which I’m about to hand out a quiz

     worth 50 percent

Nothing. None of the content of this course

has value or meaning

Take as many days off as you like:

any activities we undertake as a class

I assure you will not matter either to you or me

and are without purpose

     Everything. A few minutes after we began last time

     a shaft of light suddenly descended and an angel

     or other heavenly being appeared

     and revealed to us what each woman or man must do

     to attain divine wisdom in this life and

     the hereafter

     This is the last time the class will meet

     before we disperse to bring the good news to all people

          on earth.

Nothing. When you are not present

how could something significant occur?

     Everything. Contained in this classroom

     is a microcosm of human experience

     assembled for you to query and examine and ponder

     This is not the only place such an opportunity has been

          gathered

     but it was one place

     And you weren’t here

For further reading: Interview

“Resolution (6)” (2016)

By Layli Long Soldier (1980-)

From WHEREAS (2017)

I too urge the President to acknowledge the wrongs of the United States against Indian tribes in the history of the United States in order to bring healing to this land although healing this land is not dependent never has been upon this President meaning tribal nations and the people themselves are healing this land its waters with or without Presidential acknowledgement they act upon this right without apology–

To speak to law enforcement

these Direct Action Principles

be really clear always ask

have been painstakingly drafted

who what when where why

at behest of the local leadership

eg. Officer, my name is _________.

from Standing Rock

please explain

and are the guidelines

the probable cause for stopping me

for the Oceti Sakowin camp

you may ask

I acknowledge a plurality of ways

does that seem reasonable to you

to resist oppression

don’t give any further info

*

People ask why do you bring up

we are Protectors

so many other issues it’s because

we are peaceful and prayerful

these issues have been ongoing

‘isms’ have no place

for 200 years they’re inter-dependent

here we all stand together

we teach the distinction

we are non-violent

btwn civil rights and civil liberties

we are proud to stand

btwn what’s legal & what isn’t legal

no masks

the camp is 100% volunteer

respect local

it’s a choice to be a protector

no weapons

liberty is freedom

or what could be construed as weapons

of speech it’s a right

property damage does not get us closer

to privacy a fair trial

to our goal

you’re free

all campers must get an orientation

from unreasonable search

Direct Action Training

free from seizure of person or home

is required

& civil disobedience: the camp is

for everyone taking action

an act of civil disobedience

no children

now the law protects the corporation

in potentially dangerous situations

so the camp is illegal

we keep each accountable

you must have a buddy system

to these principles

someone must know when you’re leaving

this is a ceremony

& when you’re coming back

act accordingly

For futher reading: Interview

Excerpts from The Princess Saves Herself in This One (2017)

By Amanda Lovelace (1994-)

1. The Princess

the queen

my mother

smiled

as she offered

a cube of

sugar
in her

upturned palm.

greedily,

i accepted.

i reached inside

my mouth,

delicately placing one

(just one)

on the center

of my tongue,

& i clamped

down.

salt.

that is what abuse is:

knowing you are

going to get salt

but still hoping for sugar

for nineteen years.

– you may be gone, but i still have a stomachache

there are

some mothers

who will warn you

to never ever

(ever ever)

touch the stove,

but there are

some mothers who

will drag you right to it

kicking & screaming,

laughing

as they

watch the flames

lick at your

fingertips.

– when you’re taught to see the world through fire, nothing looks safe.

2. The Damsel

i’m not scared

of the monsters

hidden underneath

my bed.

i’m much more scared

of the boys

with messy brown hair,

sleepy hair,

& mouths

that only know

how to form

half-truths.

– my dragons.

when

my dragon

with the

green eyes

left,

i

took

a knife

& cut off

all my long,

pretty hair,

taking away

the only thing

he

ever

loved

about me.

– over before it began.

3. The Queen

once upon

a time,

the princess

rose from the ashes

her dragon lovers

made of her

&

crowned

herself

the

motherfucking

queen of

herself.

– how’s that for a happily ever after?

before he left,

he wrapped my heart

in layers of

briars & barbed wire

to make sure

that no one else

could ever get in,

but you were

more than willing

to bloody

your hands

for me.

– you never even got pricked.

4. You

if you ever

look at

your reflection

& feel the desire

to tell yourself

you’re not

good enough,

beautiful enough,

skinny enough,

curvy enough,

then i think

it’s about time

you smashed

that mirror

to bits,

don’t you?

– use those fragments to make stepping stones to your own self-love.

emily –

i often

find myself

wondering

if you are still

out there

trying to find

yourself by candelight.

is sylvia there

beside you,

guiding

the way with

the old

brag

of her

beating

heart?

does

virginia

have

a room

all her own?

& what about

harriet

& anne

& harper?

does

a woman

ever

find

her peace?

or is death

our only

feather-covered

hope?

– i’ll be there with matches.

For further reading: Review, Interview

“The Beast”

By Christine Heppermann (1975-)

From Poisoned Apples: Poems for You, My Pretty (2014)

Shut behind these walls only the two of us

can see the loathsome creature I am now –

in truth, have always been.

Every night the sumptuous spread,

me at the head of the table, when I really

belong on the floor, begging for scraps.

Every night the harpsichord sings

the same cruel song about love

breaking the spell,

the skinny rose sheds another petal,

and my kind companion gazes at me

as if I am not a monster in silk and lace.

Every night the same question,

the same answer, the same stumbling

from the room while he howls

the lie that has always been my name.

For further reading: Review, Interview

“Suicide Note” (1986)

By Janice Mirikitani (1942-)

From Shedding Silence (1987)

How many notes written . . .

ink smeared like birdprints in snow.

not good enough             not pretty enough                    not smart enough

dear mother and father.

I apologize

for disappointing you.

I’ve worked very hard,

not good enough

harder, perhaps to please you.

If only I were a son, shoulders broad

as the sunset threading through pine,

I would see the light in my mother’s

eyes, or the golden pride reflected

in my father’s dream

of my wide, male hands worthy of work

and comfort.

I would swagger through life

muscled and bold and assured,

drawing praises to me

like currents in the bed of wind, virile

with confidence.

not good enough             not strong enough                    not smart enough

I apologize.

Tasks do not come easily.

Each failure, a glacier.

Each disapproval, a bootprint.

Each disappointment,

ice above my river.

So I have worked hard.

not good enough.

My sacrifice I will drop

bone by bone, perched

on the ledge of my womanhood,

fragile as wings.

not strong enough

It is snowing steadily

surely not good weather

for flying – this sparrow

sillied and dizzied by the wind

on the edge.

not smart enough.

I make this ledge my altar

to offer penance.

This air will not hold me,

the snow burdens my crippled wings,

my tears drop like bitter cloth

softly into the gutter below.

not good enough             not strong enough                    not smart enough

Choices thin as shaved

ice. Notes shredded

drift like snow

on my broken body,

covers me like whispers

of sorries.

Perhaps when they find me

they will bury

my bird bones beneath

a sturdy pine

and scatter my feathers like

unspoken song

over this white and cold and silent

breast of earth.

For further reading: History of the Asian-American Movement, News Article