{"id":16859,"date":"2021-04-13T20:00:19","date_gmt":"2021-04-14T00:00:19","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/artsatmichigan.umich.edu\/ink\/?p=16859"},"modified":"2021-04-13T18:16:37","modified_gmt":"2021-04-13T22:16:37","slug":"the-poetry-corner-13-april-2021","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/artsatmichigan.umich.edu\/ink\/2021\/04\/13\/the-poetry-corner-13-april-2021\/","title":{"rendered":"The Poetry Corner – 13 April 2021"},"content":{"rendered":"

[To read an introduction to this column, please see the first paragraph of the initial post <\/em>here<\/a>]<\/em><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

This week I would like to feature a poem I found recently that I think is powerful and important to read. It is from the accomplished poet R. Erica Doyle, and her words about the poem are given at the end.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Where is She ::: Kot\u00e9 Li Y\u00e9<\/em><\/strong><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Long ago I met<\/p>\n

a beautiful boy<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Together we slept<\/p>\n

in my mother’s womb<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Now the street of our fathers<\/p>\n

rises to eat him<\/p>\n

::<\/p>\n

Everything black<\/p>\n

is forbidden in Eden<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

In my arms my brother<\/p>\n

sleeps, teeth pearls<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

I give away the night<\/p>\n

so he can have this slumber<\/p>\n

::<\/p>\n

I give away the man<\/p>\n

who made me white<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

I give away the man<\/p>\n

who freed my mother<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

I pry apart my skull<\/p>\n

my scalp unfurls<\/p>\n

::<\/p>\n

I nestle him gray<\/p>\n

inside my brain,<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

my brother sleeps<\/p>\n

and dreams of genes<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

mauve lips fast against spine<\/p>\n

he breathes. The sky<\/p>\n

::<\/p>\n

bends into my eyes<\/p>\n

as they search for his skin<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Helicopter blades<\/p>\n

invade our peace:::<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Where is that Black<\/em><\/p>\n

Where is it<\/em><\/p>\n

Where<\/em><\/p>\n

::<\/p>\n

Blades slice, whine<\/p>\n

pound the cupolas<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

I slide him down and out<\/p>\n

the small of my vertebrae<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

He scurries down the bone<\/p>\n

and to the ocean<\/p>\n

::<\/p>\n

navigates home<\/p>\n

in a boat carved of gommier<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

When he reaches our island<\/p>\n

everyone is relieved<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

though they have not<\/p>\n

forgotten me, bels\u00e9<\/em><\/p>\n

::<\/p>\n

Where is<\/em><\/p>\n

your sister, eh?<\/em><\/p>\n

Whey?<\/em><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/em><\/p>\n

Kot\u00e9 bels\u00e9 y\u00e9?<\/em><\/p>\n

Whey?<\/em><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/em><\/p>\n

Kot\u00e9 li y\u00e9 <\/em><\/p>\n

Kot\u00e9 li y\u00e9<\/em><\/p>\n

To the sand<\/p>\n

To the stars on the sea<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Kot\u00e9 li y\u00e9<\/em><\/p>\n

Kot\u00e9 li y\u00e9<\/em><\/p>\n

To the one-celled egun<\/p>\n

To the torpid moon<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Kot\u00e9 li y\u00e9<\/em><\/p>\n

Kot\u00e9 li y\u00e9<\/em><\/p>\n

::<\/p>\n

There:::<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Kot\u00e9 li y\u00e9<\/em><\/p>\n

drapes across a baton;<\/p>\n

glows electric in shine of taser;<\/p>\n

pumped dry with glass bottle;<\/p>\n

::<\/p>\n

There:::<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Kot\u00e9 li y\u00e9<\/em><\/p>\n

vagina gape into the night;<\/p>\n

neck dangle taut with plastic<\/p>\n

bags and poorly knotted ropes;<\/p>\n

::<\/p>\n

There:::<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Kot\u00e9 li y\u00e9<\/em><\/p>\n

bels\u00e9<\/em><\/p>\n

Kot\u00e9?<\/em><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

:::\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 I burn <\/em><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

my skin shines blacker, lacquer<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

:::\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 non-mwen s\u00e9 \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0flamb\u00f3<\/em><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

ashes tremble in the moonlight<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

::: \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0sans humanit\u00e9<\/em><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

my smoking bones fume the future<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

::: \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0pa bw\u00e8 afw\u00e9chi pou lafiy\u00e8v d\u00f2t moun<\/em><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/em><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/em><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/em><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/em><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/em><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/em><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/em><\/p>\n

\u201cI shared my mother\u2019s womb with a brother and feel infinitely protective of him; the killings of black men at the hands of the state feels personal, as does working against the causes of this violence, and this poem acknowledges the labor of black women to uplift and protect their communities. Like many other black women in the United States, I, too, have been subjected to racial profiling by law enforcement and am deeply affected by the stories of sexual abuse and murder of women\u2014particularly black, trans, and indigenous women\u2014by those in power. I wrote this poem in solidarity with the #SAYHERNAME movement, which seeks to elevate and address the abuse of and violence against women by authorities. The poem asks, both in English and in Trinidadian French\u00a0Patois<\/em>\u2014my grandmother\u2019s native language \u2014\u2018where is your sister?\u2019 which reminds us to always ask about women and girls. It ends with a\u00a0Patois <\/em>proverb that translates roughly to \u2018you cannot cure your own illness with the medicine of another\u2019\u2014reminding us that to address injustice, we must use a fine-grained, intersectional approach.\u201d
\n\u2014r. erica doyle<\/em><\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

[To read an introduction to this column, please see the first paragraph of the initial post here]   This week I would like to feature a poem I found recently that I think is powerful and important to read. It is from the accomplished poet R. Erica Doyle, and her words about the poem are […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":2238,"featured_media":16860,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"closed","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[1334],"tags":[1735,9,1221,681,1736,265,281,1574,1733,15,1734,1732,1680,420],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/artsatmichigan.umich.edu\/ink\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/16859"}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/artsatmichigan.umich.edu\/ink\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/artsatmichigan.umich.edu\/ink\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/artsatmichigan.umich.edu\/ink\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/2238"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/artsatmichigan.umich.edu\/ink\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=16859"}],"version-history":[{"count":1,"href":"https:\/\/artsatmichigan.umich.edu\/ink\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/16859\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":16861,"href":"https:\/\/artsatmichigan.umich.edu\/ink\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/16859\/revisions\/16861"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/artsatmichigan.umich.edu\/ink\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media\/16860"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/artsatmichigan.umich.edu\/ink\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=16859"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/artsatmichigan.umich.edu\/ink\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=16859"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/artsatmichigan.umich.edu\/ink\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=16859"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}