Another Heaven

by Mai Der Vang

I am but atoms
Of old passengers

Bereaved to my cloistered bones.

This rotation is my recipe,
The telling of every edition

As a landscape on slow windshields.
The body no longer

                                   Baskets fatigue,
No envelopes with oxygen left to cure.

When funeral recites
The supper gardens of my forefathers,
Cross-stitch from my mother kin,

                        Then I will come to you

Dressed in my armor of earth,
Ready as you chant my tale.

            When I reach the sloped halls
           And hammock sun,

I won’t tell why the split orchid
Falls behind. Instead,
                                  I tell why it arrives.

From Afterland by Mai Der Vang, Graywolf Press, ©2017

Most Poetry will post a poem by a poet of color, selected by our members, each day through the month of July.

Remember

by Joy Harjo

Remember the sky that you were born under,
know each of the star’s stories.
Remember the moon, know who she is.
Remember the sun’s birth at dawn, that is the
strongest point of time. Remember sundown
and the giving away to night.
Remember your birth, how your mother struggled
to give you form and breath. You are evidence of
her life, and her mother’s, and hers.
Remember your father. He is your life, also.
Remember the earth whose skin you are:
red earth, black earth, yellow earth, white earth
brown earth, we are earth.
Remember the plants, trees, animal life who all have their
tribes, their families, their histories, too. Talk to them,
listen to them. They are alive poems.
Remember the wind. Remember her voice. She knows the
origin of this universe.
Remember you are all people and all people
are you.
Remember you are this universe and this
universe is you.
Remember all is in motion, is growing, is you.
Remember language comes from this.
Remember the dance language is, that life is.
Remember.

Copyright ©1983 by Joy Harjo from SHE HAD SOME HORSES. Joy Harjo was appointed the new United States poet laureate in June 2019, and is the first Native American Poet Laureate in the history of the position.

Most Poetry will post a poem by a poet of color, selected by our members, each day through the month of July.

Kimchi

by Franny Choi

My parents’ love for each other
was pickled in the brine of 1980,
spent two decades fermenting

in an air-tight promise.
Their occasional salt caught
a slow fever, began to taste like

a buried secret. They choked
in each other’s vinegar, dug for pockets
of fresh-cut love, once green and whole,

now a shrunken head, floating.
Every night, she pulls it, messy and
barehanded, out of the jar, slices it

into slivers, and we all swallow,
smiling through the acrid burden
kicking in our throats.

From FLOATING, BRILLIANT, GONE by Franny Choi. Write Bloody Publishing, 2014.

Most Poetry will post a poem by a poet of color, selected by our members, each day through the month of July.

We Wear the Mask

by Paul Laurence Dunbar

We wear the mask that grins and lies,
It hides our cheeks and shades our eyes,—
This debt we pay to human guile;
With torn and bleeding hearts we smile,
And mouth with myriad subtleties.

Why should the world be over-wise,
In counting all our tears and sighs?
Nay, let them only see us, while
      We wear the mask.

We smile, but, O great Christ, our cries
To thee from tortured souls arise.
We sing, but oh the clay is vile
Beneath our feet, and long the mile;
But let the world dream otherwise,
      We wear the mask!

Paul Laurence Dunbar, from THE COMPLETE POEMS OF PAUL LAURENCE DUNBAR. Dodd, Mead and Company, 1925

Most Poetry will post a poem by a poet of color, selected by our members, each day through the month of July.

Lift Every Voice and Sing

by James Weldon Johnson

Lift every voice and sing,
Till earth and heaven ring,
Ring with the harmonies of Liberty;
Let our rejoicing rise
High as the list’ning skies,
Let it resound loud as the rolling sea.
Sing a song full of the faith that the dark past has taught us,
Sing a song full of the hope that the present has brought us;
Facing the rising sun of our new day begun,
Let us march on till victory is won.

Stony the road we trod,
Bitter the chast’ning rod,
Felt in the days when hope unborn had died;
Yet with a steady beat,
Have not our weary feet
Come to the place for which our fathers sighed?
We have come over a way that with tears has been watered.
We have come, treading our path through the blood of the
     slaughtered,
Out from the gloomy past,
Till now we stand at last
Where the white gleam of our bright star is cast.

God of our weary years,
God of our silent tears,
Thou who hast brought us thus far on the way;
Thou who hast by Thy might,
Led us into the light,
Keep us forever in the path, we pray.
Lest our feet stray from the places, our God, where we met
     Thee,
Lest our hearts, drunk with the wine of the world, we forget
     Thee;
Shadowed beneath Thy hand,
May we forever stand,
True to our God,
True to our native land.

From SAINT PETER RELATES AN INCIDENT by James Weldon Johnson. Copyright © 1917, 1921, 1935 James Weldon Johnson, renewed 1963 by Grace Nail Johnson.

Most Poetry will post a poem by a poet of color, selected by our members, each day through the month of July.