This poem is a tribute to Beulah Mae Donald, who makes me remember that mothers will care for us, pray over us, hold folks accountable for us, even in our absence. Because I'm grateful for that, this poem is also a tribute to my mother, Doris Knight-Bingham, who brought me into an unsafe world that I'm sure frightened her just as much as it frightens me when I look around at my children and grandbaby, but who has done her best to keep me safe and loved and praised in it.
Remica Bingham-Risher on "25 days after I am born" |
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An Interview with Ada Limón
"I was thinking about how much nature means to me in my own work, and how speaking about nature is also a way of talking about the climate crisis. It felt crucial to do something that blended poetry and nature, but I didn’t want to do it in a way that felt forced. I wanted it to be rooted in what poetry can actually do. Poetry can allow you to pay deep attention. The brain can expand, and beyond that, the heart can expand."
via THE NATION |
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What Sparks Poetry:
Jessica E. Johnson on "Of Daylight Saving Time, MyFitnessPal, and Indoor/Outdoor Cats"
"I want to weave in my long, stubborn opposition to hierarchy, noting how eyes trained on hierarchy and classification will miss what is rich, intricate, and inherently valuable in favor of an arbitrary metric. Rich, intricate, valuable: the adjectives call up the sword fern, mahonia, and yellow stream violet that grow under the tall, broad cedar I love and try to listen to, the whole system around her unsuited to commodification." |
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