Poem of the Week | June 24, 2019
Aaron Coleman “I Found Kin in A Thrift Store Photograph”
Aaron Coleman is the author of Threat Come Close (Four Way Books, 2018) and the chapbook, St. Trigger, selected by Adrian Matejka for the 2015 Button Poetry Prize. A Fulbright Scholar and Cave Canem Fellow, Aaron is the winner of the American Literary Translators Association’s Jansen Fellowship, the Tupelo Quarterly Poetry Contest, and The Cincinnati Review Schiff Award. His poems have appeared in journals including Boston Review, Callaloo, and New York Times Magazine. After completing an MFA at Washington University in St. Louis, Aaron is currently there as a PhD student in Comparative Literature studying poetry translation of the African Diaspora in the Americas.
I Found Kin in a Thrift Store Photograph
Above my bed a black boy leans
his chin down on the dark wood
of a small bridge, his arms
loose over the edge, far above
the rushing water. His fingers
let the wind’s anonymous grace spill
through him. The night is cinders:
flecks of bluish white and human red
trapped inside the sky. His face so
swept up in shadow his expression is
full of the unknowable. A black boy’s body
is a language sculpted out of silence.
Outside of time, inside the picture
this anonymous child has come
to be my family. Somehow
his legs sway with the framed waves
at the same pace loneliness slips
beneath the surface of intuition, floods
the current called desire.
On the far side I will never see
his spine is my creation myth, a bone river
of redemption, a choice to live, despite
unkeepable love. This religion of slow loss
balanced on the balls of his feet.
Author’s Note
An image above my childhood bed and the photographic work of visual artist Jen Everett inspired this poem. Jen Everett’s work led her to explore old photographs not only of her family but also of black folks she saw in old photos in antique shops around Saint Louis, MO. I often think about the fact that African American familial histories have been intentionally suppressed by the ways our names and languages were taken away during slavery. Sometimes I look at old photos of black folks I don’t know and get caught up in everything I can never really know about their lives. Many times I wonder at the off-chance that we might have some level of kinship, some distant connection…and when I think about the gauntlet of American history, I realize: of course we do.
SEE THE ISSUE
SUGGESTED CONTENT
Poem of the Week
Apr 15 2024
“Love Poem for Lois” by Regan Green
“Love Poem for Lois” by Regan Green is our Poem of the Week. Regan Green grew up in Columbia, Tennessee, and now lives in Baltimore. She is a junior lecturer… read more
Poem of the Week
Apr 08 2024
“Gray” by Melissa Ginsburg
“Gray” by Melissa Ginsburg is our Poem of the Week. Melissa Ginsburg is the author of the poetry collections Doll Apollo (winner of the Mississippi Institute of Arts and Letters… read more
Poem of the Week
Apr 01 2024
“Pharmacy Museum Tour Guide, New Orleans” by Andy Young
“Pharmacy Museum Tour Guide, New Orleans” by Andy Young is our Poem of the Week. Andy Young’s second full-length collection, Museum of the Soon to Depart, is forthcoming from Carnegie… read more