LiberationPoemsWeek 1 - “The World Begins…” Poems
Updated: May 9, 2020
Poems written by Untold Stories poets in response to the prompt “The world begins…” echoing Joy Harjo’s poem Perhaps the World Ends Here.
The World Begins
-Desiraé Simmons
the world begins
in this time and space
again and again
with a faint sound
it's the door
it creaks a little when opened slowly
still dark outside, but often a soft glow
coming from the room down the hallway
and then something soft
hair frizz or fake fur
hard to tell as momma moves to make room
for the squiggly legs and all the stuffed friends
of course sometimes
its the sound of them dropping to the floor
in a triumphant circle around the smiling squish
proud of how big their hug was this time
that wakes me from slumber
sweet little precious
climbs into bed
demanding a warm spot and that part of the pillow
looks at me with eyes telling stories of our ancestors
squeezing my face like it'll all be just right
Aunties
-Nuola Akinda
I can’t remember a time
Before the apple of my cheek
Rested on the curve of a brown woman’s thigh.
Sometimes her thigh was tree-trunk thick and
Coconut brown
Sometimes it was muscle of youth
Pulled tighter by the tension of wanting to be noticed
and invisible
In equal parts
She has many hands too
Thin, almond colored, with acrylic nails covered in Blue Magic
Or Pink Lotion
Sugarcane thick, tootsie-roll colored
With a thousand stories
Of love lost
Recovered
Lost again
Like one of those huge, colorful balls that bounces along the sand at the beach
Until your cousin kicks it into the waves
And you watch it drift away
That is where time begins for me
Sweaty
Children running in and out of the house
Flies buzzing
Grown folks watching shows you’re too young to understand
And telling you to close your eyes
Which always makes you want to peek
Too grown
Hoping for a glimpse into what makes them so damn powerful
And beautiful
And why did I want to lay right there forever
Restless
Longing
Aching scalp
The world also begins at my grandmother’s clothesline
And my aunties’ kitchens
With the feeling of a white, silk slip
On my skinny knees
With fufu and egusi stew
Slipping down my throat
With coltrane riding salty air
Slipping me into dreams
That were wide enough to hold the ancient pain that rolled through me
Now I’ve lived enough to know
That I don’t know enough
to help us survive this
alone
But I can be a brown woman
With tree trunk thighs.
I can braid truth and love
Onto the scalp of restless kin
I can love you
I can love all of you
And there will still be enough left for myself
generative ancestral wisdom
-Erika Murcia
The world begins in the wisdom of my ancestors. It begins in the generative and expansive ways of their resistance, survival, and vision. It begins in the unconditional love for communal work. The world begins when my mother made love to my donor, and as the winner, I rushed through his reproductive organs and made it to my mother’s womb so that one day I could experience pleasure while making love on my own. The world begins in the recognition of my roots and our resilience to stand still right now when a global pandemic urges us to come together in solidarity, tolerance, and peace. It begins when our human race recognizes a responsibility to take care of Mother Earth as her resources are finite. The world begins when I step on my mat and dance with so much sensuality while listening to reggae music. It begins when I remind myself that isolation cannot be rooted in fear but rather in movement and love. The world begins when I share a simple meal with my partner at the table. It begins when we as a family come together to revise our boundaries in sharing space. The world begins in my heartbeats, it continues when I am breathing love in and out mindfully right now, as I place my left hand gently on my chest and my right hand gently on my belly. It begins right here when I reach out through a text message to family, friends, and family.
Remember
-Julie Quiroz
The world begins
with a call
Today
my voice bounces
off a satellite
to you
from what I hold
in the palm
of my open hand
Long ago
a call was a drum
or a song
or eyes
warm and
clear
Ocean
moon
or sky
inviting
our dreams
A tree
alive
calling us
to be
still
Water
-Leseliey Welch
The world begins in water
Warm, cloudy with sustenance
For survival
Carrying sound and dreams
Before you were born, I knew you…
Water
Ocean, sea, sacred
The fusion of parts bonded
Because they know
They need each other
To survive
Just add water...
To plant, grow, harvest
Cleanse, restore, thrive
Full, abundant, creative – free
H2O is the most abundant
compound on Earth…
Harvest, harness, power
Buy, sell, own
Misuse and misunderstand
We belong to the water…
It does not belong to us
God is the color of water…
Showing us
Who we are
We begin and end
The substance of things hoped for…
Water.
The World Begins
-Jayanthi Reddy
The world begins in a patch of sunshine. The warmth of distant fire makes our existence possible. Each aspect of our lives shifts in relation to sunlight.
In the summer, we call our loves to drink in the sun on the beach. In the winter, we curl up in patches of warmth that have landed through windows.
We plant seeds so they are positioned to receive the sun's blessing. We pull curtains closed, as if they could ever keep the sun from calling us out of bed.
We come outside on the first sunny day in spring. We exclaim to (supposed) strangers when the sun peeks out from behind clouds. We marvel at the moon who so kindly reflects the sun back to us.
Sunlight is actual medicine. Our star seeing life through from beginning to end.
Rubberbands
-Maria Thomas
the world begins
a heartbeat and a whisper
after it felt like
we were huddled near cliff’s edge
holding on to each other
terrified the ones we loved
might fall over.
breathe
breathe
fashion your ropes
have faith
and swing possibility-wards.
now is the time to
unlearn binaries.
what, after all
are beginnings
and endings
when we’re traveling
along a circle
or dancing on a mobius strip?
know this world
has always been
simultaneously
cruel, hard, surprising and joyful.
and even the worst crises
open windows through which to pull
beautiful impossibilities
and dreamed-of futures
into this world
right here
right now.
and in this time
of heightened contradictions
choosing to be physically distanced
is how we show care
for our most vulnerable.
and we must
learn and create
new ways
of loving and communing
trusting that
just like stretched rubberbands
the further you twang us away
the fiercer the urgency
with which we’ll return
to each other
again
and
again.
Rachana
-Anuja Rajendra
The world begins and ends with form, so they say
while the depths of my being know
your essence is beyond visual caricatures
your presence is known to me, come what may
I know this as a truth
from the transitioning of you
my deeply loved one
Who?
She was ...
No, she is an “ is”...
I tell myself
Always and forever
My blood sister no longer in flesh
And forever in soul
I know that the world neither begins nor ends
as, in this glacial globe,
the effervescence of her cosmic dust
Is a glimmer of Avi on a rainy day
Is a beckoning of Chand on a celestially clear night
Is the magnetism of Chakor toward all that is good in the skies
Is the hope of Savera after midnight storms have challenged our might
Is the weaving of all of us together of Kabir with an innocence so bright.
The world begins with my sister Rachana, creation herself
And magicizes as fuel for the form of my sons’, nephews’, and nieces’ flesh
Lucky are you
All who inhabit this earth
And then heaven or hell
You are all entwined in Rachana’s energy with no beginning nor end
As her essence is plentiful within and without me and you
As the Almighty will never be meager in her offerings to us.
She will always dole.
Sanskrit Translations
Rachana (creation; also the name of my sister who transitioned to the formless)
Avi (sun; also the name of my nephew, son of another sister, Archana)
Chand (moon; also the name of my nephew, son of another sister, Archana)
Chakor (beautiful bird enamored with the moon; also the name of my son)
Savera (morning; also the name of my niece, daughter of another sister, Archana)
Kabir (mystic poet from India whom several religions claimed he was a practitioner of; also the name of my son)
Archana (prayer; also the name of another sister of mine