Thursday, July 23, 2020

Poems of Persistence, Solidarity, and Refuge – Leonora Simonovis

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

Split This Rock Virtual Open Mic announcement includes a black background with red Split This Rock logo, text that reads "Virtual Open Mic," and an illustration of a hanging lamp sending out rays of light over a laptop.
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.

From late April to mid-May, Split This Rock asked poets to send 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.


Ode to Piojos
By Leonora Simonovis

A nymph slid
from a blade of hair
onto my homework,
little legs pedaling

air. I let it walk
away. The principal
called me sucia, expelled
me until I proved

I was clean. Third worlder
he called me. You should’ve
never come. I went home
thinking New Haven

is a misleading name
for a city. My mother
combed, washed,
and sprayed my scalp.

I felt them running,
their house on fire.
We kill them, yet they
come back. Resilience

has a piojo’s wisdom.
When I went back
to school they checked
my head. Gone

the secretary said.
The principal frowned

not yet

Listen as Leonora Simonovis reads “Ode to Piojos.”

No comments: