Poetry
Poetry
Embedded Files
Angel Okeke - 1st place
“There’s Bodies in Our Garden"
“There’s Bodies in Our Garden"
Dear Philadelphia,
Can’t you see it?
Our young men have forgotten the vowels that voice the word
Home
This sun is a rope lynching our breath
Lungs gasping for air like black bodies gasp when choked with death
While our concrete drinks the fever of the afternoon
It's so hard to spring when a seed doesn’t know how to bloom
Who knew Philadelphia’s sky could be so envious?
Flash floods kiss our blocks into rivers of regret
Holding the last whimper of sanity while we gleam in centers of financial wealth
Can you see it?
The whispers of ran down basement apartments
The winds whistle through the cracks of a crumbling school
Familiar with the living water that's decaying like mold
Sh—
Aren’t you listening?
Can’t you hear it?
The rattling breath that our children can’t get rid of
The stain of generational suffocation stuck in our saliva
The tip toe around a mothers yell
That shiver in your back ain’t cold no more
Tell me
How is a whole creation penetrated into a picture of pain
When it was YOUR debt to pay?
Yet now I stand a statistic in a climate report
Look at me
No,
Look at me closely
I’m an embodiment of an entire garden not planted yet
Aren’t you tired of looking at a city turning grey?
You laugh in prosperity while I drown in decay
I hope that one day you take a second
Look up at the grey sky
And water the bodies stashed in this garden of lies
Harmonee’ Summers - 3rd place
Her Royal Earthliness
Her Royal Earthliness
Today, I adorn myself for Her Royal Earthliness—
braids threaded with synthetic silk,
nails crowned with plastic jewels,
clothes stitched with polyester fabric.
It is the day of the royal banquet.
Every year, the court gathers
to witness Her Royal Earthliness in Her prime:
Gardens in full bloom, creatures in chorus, tides lapping at our shores.
But this year, Her Royal
Earthliness dislikes
our attire, and sits upset,
unwell, unmoved.
All of a sudden, her emotions are a storm;
She shivers, parches, rolls over homes;
weeps so violently, it drowns the global south;
flushes so hot, that heat traps cities;
She speaks so fiercely,
Her breath scours the land
and leaves embers in its wake.
Something is clearly wrong.
The court convenes in panic.
After all, how dare She rage at Her subjects?
How dare She punish us for taking Her gifts?
How dare She breathe without our permission?
We are in a new, modern world,
and She no longer runs it.
We do. So we dethrone
Her Royal Earthliness.
We silence Her voice, Her abilities.
We steal Her rulebook—
Her ancient, sacred text—
and try to engineer replicas.
But something is amiss.
She is the only one who knows
how to read the text.
The only one who knows
how to coax green from brown,
how to turn drought to rain,
how to mend the sky’s torn hem.
The only one who remembers
the rhythm of Her natural cycles.
We are stranded now,
in our wasteful tyranny,
wondering why the seasons are confused,
why the air smells of chemicals,
why the stars have gone missing.
We destroyed the only answer to life.
Now we wander, lost,
in the ashes of Her Royal Earthliness.
Evah Myles Mitchell - 2nd place
Evah Myles Mitchell - 2nd place
in the town with no trees,
in the town with no trees,
We burn
children jump rope hop scotch on melted soles molten concrete
at the apogee of leaps their
bodies rain blood
We shower
We sing
(in blood)
in the town with no trees our flesh is wool
pleading and thirsty
I am pleading
I am thirsty
around the corner, a river is no longer
in replace of water, mothers pile in dirt lined tunnel searching for
blue
in the town with no trees We are red
(are black)
my father returns home after realizing there is no other (home)
to return is a myth
We are
(here)
(still)
(jailed)
(grounded)
what is there to return to
he enters the corridor with blisters blossoming through black back he
searches
for shade
for trees
for children, trees are myth
for children, the world is burning
for children, the world has always burned
for children, the sun is God
(spiteful)
(all-hating)
(punishing)
on the outskirts of the town with no trees there is wall
is wire
is sky guarding trees for the holy
We are unwhole(ly)
We are unworth(thee)
in the town with no trees, a body of oil stains our feet
our bodies grow
(blacker)
germinated by
(fire)
(dream)
(escap(ism))
I want to escape
in the town with no trees, outside is a myth
inside We are dying, too
We eat death
Decay
Blackness
Our tongues
to satisfy oneself of dream
(of freedom)
(of water)
(of drowning in)
dream is myth
in the town with no trees, electric wires house our chuch
We pray to shoes charred a choir of grief
taunting imprisonment
in the sky there is freedom
beyond the sky there are trees
in the town with no trees blood is water
We drink tears and
bathe under leaping children praying for flood
in the town with no trees water is myth
my mother once lied and sang all bodies are the sun
(are the trees)
(are the water)
if I am water, how come I ain’t never seen it–water.
what is water?
what is blood?
what is waves?
I want to drown in them–the
waves
soak salt and earth
what is earth?
the trees?
am I earth?
how come I ain’t never seen her?–earth
earth is green and alive and fruitful
I see red and black and death and the absense of ————
if I am the sun, do I hate myself?
if I am the trees, have I abandoned myself?
in the town with no trees, children are fire and calamity and calm
they are born into burning and enflamed mothers and blistered fathers and a world forced to spin branded by metalgrounds played on blacktop blazing
children cry joy
because the sun is all they know — no trees are all they
know — drought is all they know — all I know
(is)
in the town with no trees, I wish to be human, alive and drowning
in the town with no trees, I wish to be holy (whole(ly))
Art
Art
Kevin Roja - 1st place
Maya Glover - 2nd place
Sanayah Wardlaw - 3rd place
Devon Choice
Amayah Dixon
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