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