Poetry

First Place:

Our Story by Lydia Wosen

Ah was in my beautiful peaceful, African land,

Until someone white came n’ grabbed my hands,

They chained me up n’ put me in a new new land,

Where there was people like me who had dark black hands,

They whipped me n’ beat me n’ spoke in the words of white,

So ah planned to escape but ah knew it wasn’t right,

Cause ah found a wife n’ we had a kid,

So ah stayed with them, instead of hid,

They hurt me n’ worked me to the bone,

But since ah stayed, ah gotta watch my little girl grow,

Until the day came n’ they sold her off,

We bellowed n’ bawled but that wasn’t enough.

Ah was a teenage girl, when ah was ridin’ in a carriage,

Cryin’ n’ cryin’, cause ah so dearly missed my parents,

They dropped me off in a hut ah was suppose to call home,

But then a white man came in n’ ah really wanted to go,

From that day on ah was a mother of one,

Ah told my child about freedom, my papa wanted but had none,

But then the day came when he was free, 

But we mourned n’ kept sayin’, rest in peace,

There was a handsome gentleman who loved me so,

He steered his masa’s horses n’ wore nice clothes,

He offered me a chance to be somewhat free, 

But ah had a son ah knew ah couldn’t leave.

Ah was a son who loved chicken fightin’ n’ learned from the masta, my old friend,

My massa liked the way ah fought n’ made me the chicken fighter instead,

Ah told my mama, me n’ massa is gettin’ close,

She told me to not think like that or I’ma get what ah chose,

Ah had two sons with my beautiful black wife,

But one day ah came home n’ the whites made us give up all our knives,

They said there was a “nat turner” person shootin’ all the whites,

Ah told massa don’t worry, we won’t harm, not even bite,

From then on ah didn’t like the white but ah got a chance at freedom,

Ah would get sold off to a british man n’ ah said I’ll show ‘em,

Ah worked two years, then ah was free n’ ridin’ on n’ on,

But ah had to leave my boys so ah told them I’ll be back before I’m gone.

Ah am the eldest son of my famous chicken fightin’ father,

Our family got sold off to another massa, but at least we was still togetha,

There was a “civil war” happenin’ cause of slavery,

Ah tried to help a white soldier cause ah trusted him, but he betrayed me, 

N’ just like that, the war was over with the northerns winin’,

We was so jazzed we thought it was a bright new beginin’,

But the whites still treated us very, very badly,

They created a group who wore white hoods n’ whipped me til ah was bleedin’,

The next day my papa was at the door in a good lookin’ suit livin’ life,

We was so glad he came back to us n’ his wife,

He wanted us all to be free so we planned to trap the whites,

It worked n’ ah coulda whipped the whites but ah didn’t cause it wasn’t right,

We rode off leavin’ our past behind finally bein’ free, 

We stopped at a hill knowin’ we finished my great grandfather’s plea,

N’ down the line our story gets told while they all holla, howl, n’ hoot,

That gives me an idea, let’s call our story “Roots”.

This poem is inspired by the movie Roots.

J. Chomsky, D. Greene, J. Erman, G. Moses, (1977), Roots, ABC

Second Place

Hospital Daze by Eleni Kontos

Right now is one of those times, 

When a memory hits you over the head like a sack of sloshing sand 

Impromptu, yes, but loud and present also 

It is impossible to know -- what is real and what is not 

If the smell is there or if it isn't, if the sky was grey or blue.

I cannot tell you if it was raining. But if it was, 

I could say the raindrops and their pitter-patter were just like his heartbeat. 

That when I took a deep breath if not for a taste of the mulchy air on my tongue; I watched to make sure he did the same.

And I think, I think it was night 

And the maddening stench of hospital air was so used to my body it called itself home there

The halls, long and flickering 

Fluorescence sending a beating pain up the small of my back 

The halls, they seemed to last forever 

And I remember, 

Leaving the tubes and the curtains and sickly smell behind;

Wiping my brain clean so I couldn't hear his voice, 

The way he wheezed and hissed at the pain 

How close he was -- and still I could not touch him 

The sanitizer sat sturdy on the wall, 

Calling for my tainted limbs

And the strange scratchy floors of the cafeteria 

Sand paper traction on my toes

And the sad lost eyes roaming past and through but not to me; 

And suddenly, a cookie. 

In a small and, arguably, stinky place. 

B-something, the name I will never know for sure 

But I ate it; whole and soft 

Shattered and sticking to the roof of my mouth. 

Turning to paste in my throat and lingering

With who I don't remember

I could smile and listen, lie through my teeth the way a lizard lies burrowed beneath the earth

so calmly.

I could tell you I loved the cookie, the coarseness in my mouth 

But the truth is, I don't remember how it tastes. 

If it was chocolate or raisin 

Instead I remember the sweat it left on my fingers 

The marks on my jeans and the crumbs in my hair 

I remember telling my mother I loved it. 

I remember asking for more 

And being like him in more ways than I care to admit

I keep finding these small fragments of a clue, and they make it seem like the whole picture is near. 

Like soon, I will flip over the box and find the finished puzzle staring back at me; eyes full of answers.

I find a way to see and then it's gone. 

It is a memory, I know this much is true.

But what makes me ache 

Is I can't recall if I was looking for it when it was. 

Third Place

Summers in Turkey by Jasmine Pegues

Morning sunlight soaking the balcony

Feast of fruit and bread next to the hushed street

Painted sunscreen on her little cherub face 

Hand in hand, past the bazaar smelling sweet

Burying toes in the sand, spreading blankets 

And under calm turquoise waters we meet

Only for Anneanne to wrap us in

Towels and spoil us with pastries we greet

Evening winds rustle with meows of cats

The cramped apartment’s love makes me bear the heat

Diverse Society | Jade Rivas | Painting