Poems of Persistence, Solidarity, and Refuge – Shirley Jones Luke

We are each other's harvest; we are each other's business; we are each other's magnitude and bond.  ― Gwendolyn Brooks  

As we journey through political, economic, and global health crises, we turn to poetry to share truths that unearth underlying causes, illuminate impacts, and insist on transformative change. For many of us, today’s challenges are not new. The struggle of isolation, economic insecurity, inadequate medical care, deadly institutionalized negligence, governmental decisions that put Black, Brown, Indigenous, Asian, disabled, sick, and other structurally precarious people at greater risk are not new. Today, many more people are experiencing the vulnerability of these unrelenting issues. We recognize this opportunity for a heightened awareness of how our very survival depends on one another.

Poetry can help keep the flame of resilience, solidarity, and resistance alive in us. It can help us process and move through grief, anger, loneliness. Poetry can be a comfort when the most necessary actions are to rest and recover. It can remind us of what’s at stake, that our lives and legacy are worth the fight. As cultural workers, we know that culture shapes our political and social imagination at a foundational level. As poets, we can use poetry to map what is, what has been, and possibly, the way forward, including the reasons not to return to what does not honor and protect our lives, our communities, and our planet.

We asked poets to give us the words they chant to get out of bed, to raise their fists, to encourage their kin, to remind us, as this crisis does, that “we are each other’s business; we are each other’s magnitude and bond.” To read all of these poems, visit Split This Rock’s website.

***

Black on Black on Black
By Shirley Jones Luke

An onyx sun rises in an overcast sky 

over a Black Sea, waves flapping like Black tea

onto a shore of Black sand, sparkling 

like jewels, scattered by Black feet 

marching towards Black cities

of dark steel & stone, black spears 

stabbing & dropping Black tears, 

raising fears of a Black nation backlash, 

rioting on shadowy streets, a blackout 

in the hood, trees become torches, 

light ‘em up, Black hands raised, Black fists 

pumping, so much trauma, too much drama 

in the hood, where chalk outlines symbolize 

lost lives, from those bearing blue, beating 

down Blackness like it’s a threat & not a blessing, 

bless this Blackness, let it spread like oil across 

a white sheet, becoming a Black body, raising 

the black velvet of night, as fire light glows 

against buildings, smoke caresses the stars, 

illuminating our Black brilliance.

Split This Rock · Shirley Jones Luke Black On Black On Black Audio

Listen as Shirley Jones Luke reads "Black on Black on Black."

Poems of Persistence, Solidarity, and Refuge – Lesléa Newman

We are each other's harvest; we are each other's business; we are each other's magnitude and bond.  ― Gwendolyn Brooks  

As we journey through political, economic, and global health crises, we turn to poetry to share truths that unearth underlying causes, illuminate impacts, and insist on transformative change. For many of us, today’s challenges are not new. The struggle of isolation, economic insecurity, inadequate medical care, deadly institutionalized negligence, governmental decisions that put Black, Brown, Indigenous, Asian, disabled, sick, and other structurally precarious people at greater risk are not new. Today, many more people are experiencing the vulnerability of these unrelenting issues. We recognize this opportunity for a heightened awareness of how our very survival depends on one another.

Poetry can help keep the flame of resilience, solidarity, and resistance alive in us. It can help us process and move through grief, anger, loneliness. Poetry can be a comfort when the most necessary actions are to rest and recover. It can remind us of what’s at stake, that our lives and legacy are worth the fight. As cultural workers, we know that culture shapes our political and social imagination at a foundational level. As poets, we can use poetry to map what is, what has been, and possibly, the way forward, including the reasons not to return to what does not honor and protect our lives, our communities, and our planet.

We asked poets to give us the words they chant to get out of bed, to raise their fists, to encourage their kin, to remind us, as this crisis does, that “we are each other’s business; we are each other’s magnitude and bond.” To read all of these poems, visit Split This Rock’s website.

***

Thirteen Ways of Looking at Life Before the Virus
By Lesléa Newman

I.
I remember shaking hands:

damp, sweaty hands and dry, scratchy hands,
bone-crushing handshakes and dead-fish handshakes,
two-handed handshakes, my hand sandwiched
between a pair of big beefy palms.
I remember hairy hands and freckled hands,
young smooth hands and old wrinkled hands,
red polished fingernails and bitten jagged fingernails,
stained hands of hairdressers who had spent all day dying,
dirty hands of gardeners who dug down deep into the good earth.

II.
Thousands of years ago, a man stuck out his right hand
to show a stranger he had no weapon.
The stranger took his hand and shook it
to make sure he had nothing up his sleeve.
And that is how it began.

III.

I remember sharing a bucket
of greasy popcorn with a boy
at the movies
(though I no longer remember
the boy or the movie)
the thrill of our hands
accidentally on purpose
brushing each other in the dark.

IV.

I remember my best girlfriend

and I facing each other to shriek,

“Miss Mary…..Mack! Mack! Mack!”

and the loud satisfying smack!

as our four palms slapped.

V.

I remember high fives

and how we’d laugh when we missed

and then do a do-over.

VI.

I remember the elegant turn

of shiny brass doorknobs

cool to the touch.

VII.

I remember my mother’s hands

tied to the railings of her hospital bed

and how I untied them

when the nurse wasn’t looking

and held them in my lap.

VIII.

I remember holding my father’s hand

how the big college ring he wore

rubbed against my birthstone ring

and irritated my pinky

but I never pulled away.

IX.

I remember the joy of offering

my index finger to a new baby

who wrapped it in her fist

as we gazed at each other in wonder.

X.

I remember tapping a stranger

on the shoulder and saying,

“Your tag is showing.

Do you mind if I tuck it in?”

She didn’t mind. I tucked it in.

XI.

I remember salad bars and hot bars.

I remember saying, “Want a bite?”

and offering a forkful

of food from my plate.

I remember, asking, “Can I have a sip?”

and placing my lips

on the edge of your cold frosty glass.

XII.

I remember passing around the Kiddush cup,

each of us taking a small sip of wine.

I remember passing around the challah,

each of us ripping off a big yeasty hunk.

I remember picking up a serving spoon

someone had just put down

without giving it a second thought.

XIII.

I remember sitting with a mourner

at a funeral, not saying a word,

simply taking her hand.

Split This Rock · Lesléa Newman Thirteen Ways Of Looking At Life Before The Virus Audio

Listen as Lesléa Newman reads "Thirteen Ways of Looking at Life Before the Virus."

Poems of Persistence, Solidarity, and Refuge – Cheyenne Marcelus

We are each other's harvest; we are each other's business; we are each other's magnitude and bond.  ― Gwendolyn Brooks  

As we journey through political, economic, and global health crises, we turn to poetry to share truths that unearth underlying causes, illuminate impacts, and insist on transformative change. For many of us, today’s challenges are not new. The struggle of isolation, economic insecurity, inadequate medical care, deadly institutionalized negligence, governmental decisions that put Black, Brown, Indigenous, Asian, disabled, sick, and other structurally precarious people at greater risk are not new. Today, many more people are experiencing the vulnerability of these unrelenting issues. We recognize this opportunity for a heightened awareness of how our very survival depends on one another.

Poetry can help keep the flame of resilience, solidarity, and resistance alive in us. It can help us process and move through grief, anger, loneliness. Poetry can be a comfort when the most necessary actions are to rest and recover. It can remind us of what’s at stake, that our lives and legacy are worth the fight. As cultural workers, we know that culture shapes our political and social imagination at a foundational level. As poets, we can use poetry to map what is, what has been, and possibly, the way forward, including the reasons not to return to what does not honor and protect our lives, our communities, and our planet.

We asked poets to give us the words they chant to get out of bed, to raise their fists, to encourage their kin, to remind us, as this crisis does, that “we are each other’s business; we are each other’s magnitude and bond.” To read all of these poems, visit Split This Rock’s website.

***

Content Advisory: suicide-related language

Opening the Space
By Cheyenne Marcelus

I bruised my shins and scraped my elbows trying to dance in this tight space;

I bruised my forehead on the ceiling fan when I tried to fly;

I slit my wrist on the door trying to escape;

I carpet burned my knees praying for deliverance.

Every break in my skin served

as a reminder that I was just

too big.

There was no room to toss and turn in my sleep;

I lay awake rubbing my fingertips against the ceiling,

it was low enough to touch.

I thought I'd hurt myself if I ever

stood tall.

But I grew tired of slouching.

So I took a sledgehammer to the walls

and opened the space;

I opened a window and let the light in;

I broke out,

I read,

I traveled,

I danced wildly across the continents

and prayed in tongues.

I left home

and came back without conventions;

A tight grip on loose morals,

forsaking traditions.

Arms stretched so wide

I put pressure on the walls,

opening the space that confined me.

Every break in my skin eventually closed,

opening me up to the universe.

Split This Rock · Cheyenne Marcelus_Opening the Space_Audio

Listen as Cheyenne Marcelus reads "Opening the Space."

Previously published in the self-published poetry collection Good Me: A Poetic Journey to Self-Acceptance and Self-Preservation.

Poems of Persistence, Solidarity, and Refuge – Alex Carrigan

We are each other's harvest; we are each other's business; we are each other's magnitude and bond.  ― Gwendolyn Brooks  

As we journey through political, economic, and global health crises, we turn to poetry to share truths that unearth underlying causes, illuminate impacts, and insist on transformative change. For many of us, today’s challenges are not new. The struggle of isolation, economic insecurity, inadequate medical care, deadly institutionalized negligence, governmental decisions that put Black, Brown, Indigenous, Asian, disabled, sick, and other structurally precarious people at greater risk are not new. Today, many more people are experiencing the vulnerability of these unrelenting issues. We recognize this opportunity for a heightened awareness of how our very survival depends on one another.

Poetry can help keep the flame of resilience, solidarity, and resistance alive in us. It can help us process and move through grief, anger, loneliness. Poetry can be a comfort when the most necessary actions are to rest and recover. It can remind us of what’s at stake, that our lives and legacy are worth the fight. As cultural workers, we know that culture shapes our political and social imagination at a foundational level. As poets, we can use poetry to map what is, what has been, and possibly, the way forward, including the reasons not to return to what does not honor and protect our lives, our communities, and our planet.

We asked poets to give us the words they chant to get out of bed, to raise their fists, to encourage their kin, to remind us, as this crisis does, that “we are each other’s business; we are each other’s magnitude and bond.” To read all of these poems, visit Split This Rock’s website.

***

Furlough

By Alex Carrigan

“Furlough” is the kind way to give

someone the illusion of freedom.
To let them think they can cut
through the musk
and refresh themselves.

“Furlough” is the cruel way to let
someone think they can breathe deeply.
For them to think they have
some relief from the odor,
the pungent weight of their world.

“Furlough” is the easy way to make
someone believe it’s temporary.
That they can use lemon-scented polish
to cover the stagnation
embedded in their furniture.

“Furlough” is the difficult way to allow
someone to think that,
beyond the sliding doors,
there’s familiar scents
within their permitted range.

“Furlough” is false hope.
You are still stuck inside, the
glass just looks cleaner.

Split This Rock · Alex Carrigan_Furlough_Audio

Listen as Alex Carrigan reads "Furlough."

Poems of Persistence, Solidarity, and Refuge – Jessica A. Sanchez

We are each other's harvest; we are each other's business; we are each other's magnitude and bond.  ― Gwendolyn Brooks  

As we journey through political, economic, and global health crises, we turn to poetry to share truths that unearth underlying causes, illuminate impacts, and insist on transformative change. For many of us, today’s challenges are not new. The struggle of isolation, economic insecurity, inadequate medical care, deadly institutionalized negligence, governmental decisions that put Black, Brown, Indigenous, Asian, disabled, sick, and other structurally precarious people at greater risk are not new. Today, many more people are experiencing the vulnerability of these unrelenting issues. We recognize this opportunity for a heightened awareness of how our very survival depends on one another.

Poetry can help keep the flame of resilience, solidarity, and resistance alive in us. It can help us process and move through grief, anger, loneliness. Poetry can be a comfort when the most necessary actions are to rest and recover. It can remind us of what’s at stake, that our lives and legacy are worth the fight. As cultural workers, we know that culture shapes our political and social imagination at a foundational level. As poets, we can use poetry to map what is, what has been, and possibly, the way forward, including the reasons not to return to what does not honor and protect our lives, our communities, and our planet.

We asked poets to give us the words they chant to get out of bed, to raise their fists, to encourage their kin, to remind us, as this crisis does, that “we are each other’s business; we are each other’s magnitude and bond.” To read all of these poems, visit Split This Rock’s website.

***
Content Advisory: Reference to Dying

Covid-19
By Jessica A. Sanchez

I don't pause for tears
     Beyond this stained mask

I persist

In the spring
     Where the virus blooms

You see deciduous wisteria's
     My purple gloved hands

You see an endless river
     Tears in my eyes

In this silence where the words gather
     You shed your leaves

I pause for your heartbeat

     You perish in the new light of summer

Listen as Jessica A. Sanchez reads "Covid-19."

Call for Poems of Persistence, Solidarity, and Refuge

We are each other's harvest; we are each other's business; we are each other's magnitude and bond.

― Gwendolyn Brooks

As we journey through this unprecedented global crisis, we turn to poetry to share truths that unearth its underlying causes, impact, and insistence for genuine change. For many of us, today’s challenges are not new. The struggle of isolation, economic insecurity, inadequate medical care, deadly institutionalized negligence, governmental decisions that put black, brown, indigenous, Asian, disabled, sick, and other marginalized people at greater risk are not new. Today all the world experiences the vulnerability of these unrelenting issues and a heightened awareness to how our very survival depends on one another. 

Poetry cannot solve our present challenges, but it can help keep the flame of resilience, solidarity, and resistance alive in us. It can help us process and move through grief, anger, loneliness. It can be comfort when the most necessary action is to rest and recover. It can remind us what’s at stake, that our lives and legacy are worth the fight. All things begin in the imagination and poetry gives us a tool to paint the way forward, the reasons not to return to what does not honor and protect all lives. 

We offer this Virtual Open Mic as a well from which to draw replenishing water. We invite you to pour into this communal resource. Send us your poems of affirmation, protest, and witness. Give us the words you chant to get out of bed, to raise your fist, to encourage your kin, that will remind us, as this crisis does, that “we are our each other’s business; we are each other’s magnitude and bond.” 

Guidelines

• Poems will be accepted until May 15, 2020. We invite one poem per person.
• Poems will be published on a rolling basis to Split This Rock’s blog, Blog This Rock (blogthisrock.blogspot.com), to create a Virtual Open Mic.
• We welcome poems new and old, whether previously published or not.
• Thematically, the call is wide open. We welcome: resistance, mourning, rage, solidarity, celebration, love. We especially welcome poems of witness and challenge by people experiencing an elevated level of risk in this crisis, such as disabled, sick, D/deaf, Brown, Black, Asian, Indigenous, queer/trans, and poor people. Religious and spiritual content is allowed, but please: no religious proselytizing.
• While we appreciate all poetic forms, Split This Rock's blog is not compatible with poems with complex or experimental formatting. Please choose your submission with this in mind. Should we find that your poem can not be properly posted, we will be in touch to request a different poem.
• Submissions to the Virtual Open Mic that have not yet been published as text online may also be considered for Split This Rock's Poem of the Week Series. We will contact you directly if we identify your poem as one we’d like to include as a Poem of the Week.

Submitted poems will be posted at Split This Rock’s blog, pending review for harmful content. Content that might be considered harmful includes poems with language, themes, and metaphors that:

• target marginalized groups, such as (but not limited to) D/deaf, disabled, and sick people; people of color, Indigenous people, women, lesbian, gay, bisexual, and trans people; people discriminated against for being from other countries, Muslim people, religious minorities, poor people, incarcerated and formerly incarcerated people, etc.
• include slurs used to refer to groups to which the author does not belong
• uses people’s lived experiences, such as illness and disability, as pejorative metaphors (Ex: “blind to the fact,” “deaf to the truth”) 
• appropriate the experiences or cultures of identities the poet does not hold
• call for violence against vulnerable people or groups

How to Submit Your Poem

Online: Send us your poem via the online Submission Form by May 15, 2020.

If the form is not accessible to you: 

• Send your poem as an email attachment (.doc or .docx only) with the subject line “Virtual Open Mic Poem-[Your Name]” to submissions@splitthisrock.org. 
• Please include the following in the body of your email: the poem's title, your name and email address, and, if the poem has been previously published online or in print, include  publication information (publication name, press name, if applicable, and year of publication). Additionally, we ask that you review the statement below and confirm your agreement with it by including this  statement in the body of your email: "I confirm originality of [YOUR POEM TITLE]."
  Confirmation of Originality Statement: Author warrants that all material submitted to Split This Rock for the Virtual Open Mic originated with the author and were created by the author except where otherwise credited. Author agrees to indemnify and hold harmless Split This Rock from any and all claims, damages, and expenses which may arise for alleged breach of author warranties associated with material to be published. The Author warrants and represents they are the sole owner of the copyright to the poem submitted for publication and have full power and authority to grant Split This Rock with the rights herein provided for.

• For greater accessibility, please include an audio recording of your poem with your emailed submission titled with this format: [Your Name]_[Title of Poem]_Audio. Be sure to check the recording’s sound quality and consistency with the written text before you send it. To record your poem, use your cell phone, tablet, or computer to make an MP3 or MP4 file. Make your recording in a quiet place, speaking clearly and at an understandable pace. Please be sure to read the poem as it is written. Follow this script to begin your recording: “This is [Your Name] reading [Title of Your Poem] for Split This Rock.” After that, if the poem has an epigraph, state “This poem has an epigraph that reads” and read the epigraph. Then repeat the poem’s title and read the poem.

Questions

Send questions to info@splitthisrock.org.

A Message from Rasha Abdulhadi Interim Executive Director

A Message from Rasha Abdulhadi

Interim Executive Director

December 5, 2018

Visit the full announcement for fundraising updates, opportunities to donate and honor treasured poets, and exciting giveaways -- including free books! 

Find more information in Rasha's biography and hiring announcement.

To my dear and widening community of poets, educators, organizers, and supporters of literary arts and social movements,

In some ways, my story starts in Dupont Circle, Washington, DC. Today when I walked down the block from Split This Rock's offices on Connecticut Avenue to the circle, I could see the building that once held Agostino's Italian restaurant, where my parents met while working as waitstaff in the mid-70s. Their first apartment is a five minute walk from the office where I type this letter. I first moved to DC in 2014, but in some ways I am coming back to my own origin story. In this time travel, I show up for leadership grounded in diasporic lineage and deeply rooted in place, down to the very block and corner.

Where I'm coming from

As a Palestinian Southerner raised in a small town, place and land and community and history and lineage mean so much to how I understand work, relationships, and building trust. I receive the invitation to lead at Split This Rock as a sacred trust -- especially when the material stakes for all our folks are so high and particularly in Washington, DC, this historically Black city that plays national and international stage for political theater. It's a city that has been fought for by so many generations of organizers, artists, teachers, students, and families. I arrive at Split This Rock committed to the people who are committed to the communities they're from or living in.

Interim ain't no halfway thing

This interim position is a two-year commitment to being a conduit for community leadership, family. We will host the 2020 Festival together and weather the 2020 election cycle. We will be working in DC neighborhoods and schools when Amazon starts building its headquarters in Arlington, Virginia. I'm looking forward to working with you all to clear pathways in our movements and our art, to pivot and tug our ship to wider waters, and to midwife the next generation of leadership.

Now is the time to grow our small but mighty team

Do you already know that Split This Rock is staffed by a tiny but mighty team? We currently run all our programming -- including a national poetry festival, citywide youth programs, a weekly poetry series and online database, and monthly open mics -- with just 3 full-time staff and 2 part-time administrative staff. To stabilize current programs, we need a minimum of 5 full-time staff. To fully meet the demands for our work locally and nationally, we would need to employ 10 people and contract two dozen more as local teaching artists, festival staff, and curatorial fellows. Help us grow toward that abundant possibility, lift the work of all our communities, and widen the zone of leadership to employ more poets, organizers, and teaching artists.

Poetry is a tool for changing material reality

Because I work in the lineage of artists from Southern Freedom movements, I know that art and culture and storytelling are how we call out truth, defend ourselves, and find each other. As artists and poets, we are keeping the hands and heart of movement warm, the mind of movement sharp, and the tongues of movement fluent. We are building tools with our words, and we are gathering fuel. In each era, we will need new songs. We will need to bake the daily bread of art to keep us going. We are in a literary and cultural renaissance and a generational wave to renew our languages, even as we are in the fights of our lives.

We can become each other's philanthropists

I just signed up to become a sustaining donor to Split This Rock at $25/month, roughly the cost of one dinner out. There have been times when I couldn't afford to donate to the people and groups that kept my body and heart alive, but when I can, I do. I see community-based fundraising as an act of community self-defense. When infrastructure fails us, we must turn to each other. We must give material support to folks who are keeping social justice movements alive, keeping people alive, keeping communities alive and possible. Please join me in supporting the people and work you are grateful for this year, wherever they are.

Defend what you love. Fund what you treasure.

To invest in Split This Rock, visit the website and donate today.

Or send a check made out to "Split This Rock" to 1301 Connecticut Avenue, NW, Suite 600, Washington, DC 20036.

There is so much to do, and we have so many conversations before us. 

This'll do for a start.

With a full and clear heart,

Rasha