You have to imagine it:
Who said you were too dark/too
Large? Too queer/too loud?
Who said you were too poor/
You have to imagine it:
Who said you must keep quiet?
Who heard your story, then
Rolled their eyes?
Who tried to change your name
You’ve got to imagine:
Who heard your name
And refused to pronounce it?
Who checked their watch
James Baldwin wrote:
“The place in which I’ll fit
Will not exist
New York, city of invention,
Roiling town, refresher
New York, city of the real,
Where the canyons
Whisper in a hundred
New York,
Where your lucky self
Waits for your
Arrival,
Where there is always soil
For your root.
The taste of us/the spice of us
The hollers and the rhythms and
In the echo of our
Ancestors,
Who made certain we know
City of Insistence,
You have to imagine:
An Army that wins without
Firing a bullet,
A joy that wears down
Up from insults,
Up from blocked doors,
Up from trick bags,
Up from fear/up from shame,
Up from the way it was done before.
That space they said wasn’t yours.
That time they said you’d never own.
The invisible city lit, on its way.
This moment is our proof.
.