
Ypsi On My Mind is a zine collection of poems by women of color exploring how we see and experience Ypsilanti -- past, present, or future. Ypsilanti is crucial to our region -- and Black, Latinx, Native American, and other women of color are crucial to Ypsilanti. So, what does Ypsilanti mean to women of color? These poems offer a glimpse.
This is an open source community zine! Please share and reproduce widely!
I Stand Tall
I stand tall on my foundation in a city that has shown me both love and hate. As I sit next to the water at riverside park, I feel the sun caress my face
by Lolita D. Nunn

Ypsi (most of the time)
I can find
a friend of mine
in Ypsi
most of the time
(Photo Credit YooperAnn)
by Nancy Nishihira

A Goddess of Contentment
You are a land full of abundance
an abundance of collective beloveds.
You have taught me to be still
(Photo Credit Shop_Ypsi)
by Erika Murcia

Thee Beast
Hair
All over my body.
If you collected every strand
My particles would travel for miles
by Rachael Somers

Familiar Daughter
The sound of the heavy rain woke me on a late August morning
Giant droplets slapped oak tree leaves
their vivid green shrouded the slightly cracked window letting in tepid summer air
by Connystynce Chege

Poema para Ypsilanti
Querido Ypsilanti amado Ypsilanti!
Desde el corazón te recito con amor
Me levanto a una solo vos con un son conquistador
(Photo Credit Shop_Ypsi)
by Roxana Quijada

Healing Roots
I try but can’t quite place the memory
That moment I felt rooted into the history
by Desiraé Simmons

1893 Cyclone Damage at the Chinese Laundry
Hold the photograph close. The erasable space appears: you, nameless, hand on your hat, outside on the sidewalk.
(Photo Credit Matt Callow)
by Linette Lao

Plum juice
There’s a brown girl in the rain
Tra la la la la
There’s a brown girl in the rain
Tra la la la la la
by Nuola Akinde

In the saddle
Nothing does a better job of reminding me that I’m alive
than riding my bicycle
losing my breath as I sprint up Cherry Hill Road
(Photo Credit Alan L)
by Jayanthi Reddy

Birthing Home
When I say I’m undocumented
People are always asking me what
It means to be american.
by Maria Ibarra-Frayre

Ten Pairs
Every tear escaped behind a mask at dinner unnoticed, a pattern of paw prints on pedestrian streets, the sound of a toothbrush connecting with the floor—
(Photo Credit Kari Zeissky)
by Amber Fellows

Home (an ode to Ypsilanti)
I didn't grow up in one place
I am glad I didn't
But if I could offer one place for my children
It would be here
(Photo Credit George Thomas)
by Brenda Dinorah González

An Ode to Complex Movement
A housemate in Detroit
From Pennsylvania
Once told me that she had a polyamorous relationship to place
That multiple cities called to her that she all loved equally but different.
by Violeta Donawa

Ypsi On My Mind
My being relates to this place
Like a turtle full of substance steadfastly
Forging
Its path
by Anuja Rajendra

The Refuge
This place is the refuge
where with faith,
a grieving teenager sent her baby girl
lovingly down river
to rescue her from the 1980s.
by Erica B. Edwards
