an anthem for those magnificent bronx creative writers

(for my creative writing students)

 

we are the shapes which alphabet this earth,

our poems

like pits beneath soil

 

we are roots of bruised histories &

hungry to pronounce

a mutiny of narratives on fire

 

we are the unzippered

bath of salt from our spring, shed of

blur & bother

forests of electric citrus bloom

 

we are the music

found on the other side of windows

the flâneura who catalogue,

painting movies on pages

 

we are the whispered magic acts

emerging wanderers

like a sea glass disco washing ashore

 

we are the other’d, the look’d over

we wave our tongues like flags

we are the country of poets, painters, story-

tellers,              humans

 

decoding what it is

to be

alive

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