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.
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it didn't happenBy Mary Donovan
imagined room full of ants.
must-be decay. they are
crawling through my
journals. devouring my
sheets. bleeding ink of
less lost-love than mis-
adventure. in other words,
youth. they are feeding
on my stories.
perhaps moths too. mice.
crowning themselves
with old loved t-shirt
from my mother, with
manatees, environmental
slogan – it was the 70s.
the ants becoming political.
cracking my mirror and
arming themselves with
the shards. fashioning
armor from prints on
the wall. philosophizing
at my desk. reading
Bolaño in my bed.
laying eggs in
dying cacti.
when they hatch
will I be back?
with vinegar &
mint oil & other
tentative solutions?
maybe moved to
new country with
new moons with
more words in
new journals.
they smoke, fog
up my windows.
dance to neighbors
reggaeton. & opera.
they come by the thousands.
Listen as Mary Donovan reads "it didn't happen."
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