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Richmond Poet Laureate Joanna Lee shares some reflections and poetry during Women’s History Month:
As we continue through Women’s History Month, and as the first female Poet Laureate for the City, I’m reminded of some of the incredible poetesses here in Richmond who took up their pens and their voices before me, torch-bearers and community-makers like Lorna Pinckney and Shann Palmer (one of my own mentors), as well as teachers like Claudia Emerson whose transcendent work also happened to win some of the highest accolades poets can attain.
I also reflect on some of my own role models from the wider world, favorite poets going back to childhood, with names you might recognize: Sylvia Plath, Anne Sexton… women who fought inner battles to produce exquisite art. And more contemporary voices I’d recommend to anyone: Joy Harjo, Ada Limón, Patricia Smith, Sharon Olds. I’d be remiss not to mention the recent loss of the incredible nonbinary poet Andrea Gibson—first to win the Women of the World Poetry Slam, who passed from ovarian cancer last summer.
This poem is in honor of all these, and for all of you out there, reading. It will be one of my final poems for this newsletter, as our next poet laureate’s term will begin in April—come join us at Poetry Fest at the Visual Arts Studio of Richmond on April 11th for the passing of the torch!
She
has whole universes in the dark cave
of her blood, calls them forth to tuck
under her tongue on lonely days
and whistles the rain away. She
is grass-and-azure, mountain and ocean,
folds tight her horizon like a handkerchief
to be brought forth in triumph
or in need, a promise, a flag.
She is nations, knows
secrets: when to dance, where
to run, how to fly but
she stands planted,
face set, her heels lightning rods
that could crack your spine.
Her hips the rhythm of legacy.
Her heart a jeweled cage no one can afford,
the bluebird inside content
with its own bluebird song.
If i could cover
the questioning eyes
of her mirrors and doubts and scars
of her losses and burdens and grief
with green-growing words, i
would say:
You have your own story to tell.
You were born to live like an explosion of stars;
see the heavens in yourself and look
up.
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