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Poetry Challenge: Answer the Question You Want to Be Asked
By
Shumita Basu
Published Apr 24, 2020
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By
Shumita Basu
Published Apr 24, 2020
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We’ve been inviting people to write and share their own poems in honor of National Poetry Month. And we’re learning that, for some of you, isolation is stirring long-dormant creative impulses. Here are just a few things you’ve told us, in your poetry emails:
- “I’ve never written a haiku in my life before this and I’m turning 63 on Friday.”
- “Reading the first round of poems pushed me to submit.”
- “The only poetry I have written has been sporadic and only for myself. I never shared it with anyone else until now.”
- “It took me out of myself to write a bit of silliness at a time when I was going crazy, so thank you!”
- “I have been battling mental illness for some time now, and I can honestly say that expressing my feelings in this form is one of the most beneficial things that I have done for my mental health. Never thought to do it until now.”
Last week we shared poems responding to our first prompt: “What a Difference a Month Makes.” This week, we offered a new prompt: “Answer a question you wish someone would ask you right now. (And make that question the title of your poem.)”
Thanks to everyone who wrote in. We’ve published a few of our favorite entries below. But favorites are subjective, and we really hate choosing, so for the full effect you’re going to want to browse through this collection of the 170+ poems we received. And here’s a kid-friendly collection that sorts out adult themes, like death and violence.
Here’s your final poetry prompt, to take us through the end of April: Lessons learned.
Big lessons, small ones, societal ones, personal ones. Share your “lessons learned” poem on Twitter/Instagram using #PAUSEpoetry or email [email protected]. We may share your poem on the air or online.
“How ‘bout a play date?
Words I’m desperate to hear.
I miss my old life.”
-Dashiell Cornell, 11 years old
What could New York have done to keep you from leaving?
a rent freeze first of all
been living in here long enough
for my child by this City to be in
junior high school, explaining how
the price of everything went up
living made breathing hard
the cost of artmaking cannot be
traced by DOL algorithms who can’t
fathom why we’d cast our lives out
like wet market nets selling an
animal of ours to make a living
i was already beyond means
an artist’s life cannot be writ
as one clean, safe, social, secure
guarantee of survival when there’s
no work to keep close to dreams
and debts not one would believe
so very long, for now, New York
no asking me to where i’m going
it’s not here...so why’s it matter
-Alanna Blair in Astoria, Queens (until 4/30/2020)
When did time start to slip?
I am at a loss
couldn’t tell you where
to press the pushpin into the map.
Where it would fall,
its place in the trajectory.
Couldn't name the day
of the week. I know
the date I last took the train,
last crossed the East River,
last time I sat
next to a person closer than 6 feet.
Our Conversation not muffled by fabric.
Fabric is what I think of first.
The perfect thread count.
The cradle of cashmere.
The full body warmth of a hug
from a dear friend
that radiates out from the core,
like the first sip of a manhattan
on a bar stool somewhere south of 14th Street.
I am at a loss to recall
the anticipation of touch,
like the moment when you raise
your head out of the bath water,
the sound of the ocean in a shell,
unexpected warmth of a candle
from inches above. I can't do it justice
but I'm slowly leaning in
for a first kiss. The charge in the air
on a spring evening, just before
the wind picks up and all at once torrents.
-Derek Warker in Crown Heights, Brooklyn
How do you feel about your husband going back to work?
Well… since you asked
I feel like he has made a life and death decision to go back to work.
His decision…
and possibly
my life
(his life too, but you asked about me!)
Like many Americans
We have been staying at home
Binge-watching shows on cable television ‘till all hours
Acutely aware of the sirens going by
Wondering about the passengers inside
and hoping they will be OK
Going out masked and gloved, only to get groceries
Or to drop the clothes off to the laundromat
(and once or twice to see our grandson in the park!)
My husband has been hinting about going back to work for over a week now
expressing his concern about the rent and other bills
I understand his need to provide
To take care of things
To keep us afloat
Like many Americans
We are one pay check away from being homeless
Unable to save anything or to own anything
Staying at home is a luxury we can ill afford
Besides, he has used
his sick leave
and his vacation pay
to shelter in place
Now what?
The time has come to go back
Intellectually, I understand why he wants to
why he must
But there is more to it than just money
There is a bigger issue here
that speaks to the character of the man
You see, my husband is a Boy Scout!
Case in point:
Before the tsunami of layoffs in 2008 and 2009
he was working on Wall Street
He had been there for 33 years
and was there when the World Trade Center Towers
came down
Almost immediately,
Mayor Giuliani wanted New York City
to get up on its feet
dust itself off
and get back to work
The bosses couldn’t make him go
but then again, they didn’t have to
Without hesitation he volunteered
to go back down there!
To go Ground Zero and help get the New York Stock Exchange
—or at least the company he worked for—
up on its feet and running
Now, he is an “essential worker” of a different sort
He is a United States Postal Worker
He feels a sense of duty to deliver the mail
to the citizens whom he serves
in this new Ground Zero called Coronavirus
"Neither snow nor rain nor heat nor gloom of night
stays these couriers from the swift completion of their appointed rounds."
Oh, he is all about that!
And I love him for it
But he is also sixty-five
and African American
and has an underlying health concern
I would think that should be enough
to continue to keep him home
and
US
Safe
So how do I feel about my husband going back to work, you ask?
Proud, yes
but cautious…
I claim my right to live and tell the tale!
-Yvette Heyliger in Harlem
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poetry
Shumita Basu
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