today, i elect jonathan, eleven & already making roads out of water

young genius, blog writer, lil community activist, curls tight

as pinky swears, black as my nationi trust the world in his tender

blooming hands, i trust him to tell us which rivers are safe to drink

& which hold fish like a promise

 
i elect eve ewing, who i know would ms. frizzle the country

into one big classroom where grandmas finger paint

the national budget & uncles stand around smoking blacks

plotting on stars for our escape            she could walk to the podium

at her inauguration & say, the future is now, & we’d all marvel

at the sun & moon looping the sky like a gif as the cars learned

to fly & our skin grew bulletproof

 
& colin kaepernick is my president, who kneels on the air

bent toward a branch, throwing apples down to the children & vets

 
& rihanna is my president, walking out of global summits

with wine glass in hand, our taxes returned in gold

to dust our faces into coins


& my mama is my president, her grace stunts

on amazing, brown hands breaking brown bread over

mouths of the hungry until there are none unfed

 
& my grandma is my president & her cabinet is her cabinet

cause she knows to trust what the pan knows

how the skillet wins the war

 
& the man i saw high kicking his way down the river?

he is my president

 
& the trans girl making songs in her closet, spinning the dark

into a booming dress? she too is my president

 
& shonda rhimes is my president

& nate marshall is my president
 
& trina is my president

                     
& the boys outside walgreens selling candy

for a possibly fictional basketball team are my presidents

 
& the bus driver who stops after you yell wait! only twice

is my pres

 
& the dude at the pizza spot who will give you a free slice

if you are down to wait for him to finish the day’s fourth prayer

is my president

 
& my auntie, only a few months clean, but clean

she is my president
 
& my neighbor who holds the door open when my arms

are full of laundry is my president

 
& every head nod is my president

 
& every child singing summer with a red sweet tongue is my president

 
& the birds
 
& the cooks


& the single moms especially

 
& the weed dealers
 
& the teachers

 
& the meter maid who lets you slide

 
& the cab drivers who stop

 
& the nurse’s swollen feet

& the braider’s exhausted hands

 
& the bartender
& beyoncé

& all her kids
& the rabbi

 
& the sad girls
 
& the leather daddy who always stops to say good morning

 
& the boy crying on the train & the sudden abuela who rubs his back

& the uncle who offers him water & the drag queen who begins to hum

 
o my presidents!

my presidents!

my presidents!

my presidents!
 
 
show me to our nation

my only border is my body

 
i sing your names

sing your names

your names

 
my mighty anthem
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A Daily Dose of Poetry

The Times' National editor launches morning story meetings with a novel opener. "[I]t can be a grim half-hour....Recently, though, we added a new feature to our morning meetings aimed at inspiring us and boosting our creativity before we embark on another long day of editing the news. We read a poem." 

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What Sparks Poetry:
Martha Rhodes on Theodore Roethke's "The Geranium"

"I really heard him. He was talking to me. He was sitting on my bed, drunk and slurring as he said it and he was saying (confessing) 'And that was scary' to himself, but also—I repeat—to me. I was stunned. I thought, 'He can do that? He can do that?'"
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