rise, still, from the

left-hand corners of my papers;

black letters;

better to read poetry in fifth grade history, shouting;

I

was named after a poet—

 

heroic: note this, notice

this black woman

a woman

Phenomenally

Phenomenal woman

that’s what a

phenomenal woman

wished of me

but a free bird

doesn’t sing--

 

entwined in red rings  

speak of things

I’ll never know;

privileged eighteen,

I’ll write softly, clean,

of a late spring

dreaming of writing something

worth reading—

 

But

you call to me, clearly, forcefully—

            Come,

you may stand upon my

Back and face your distant destiny,

but seek no haven in my shadow,

for I will give you no hiding place.

so capture another breeze,

and the trade winds soft through the sighing trees.

 

name the sky:

Maya