Poets of Color



Elmaz Abinader, Instructor Office: 313 Mills Hall
510 430 2225 elmaz@earthlink.net
office hours: 5-6:30 Thursday and by appointment

Here are the texts for the class.
• Asian American Poetry: the Next Generation edited by Victoria Chang
• Voices from Leimert Park, ed by Shonda, Buchannan
• Effigies, An Anthology of New Indigenous Writing Pacific Rim, 2009, Okpik, Rexford McDougall, etc (Salt Publishing)
• The Wind Shifts, New Latino Poetry, Edited by Francisco Aragón
• The Essential Etheridge Knight by Etheridge Knight
• Mercy by Lucille Clifton
• Zodiac of Echoes by Khaled Mattawa
• Diwata by Barbara Jane Reyes


Sunday, November 25, 2012

Melissa: carries the sea with memories


  • Poem from our studies: Khaled Mattawa's "Echo and Elixir 2"
  • Poem from my personal work: A poem, "The Afternoon Elephant in the Lunch Break Room." (posted below for the zine.)
  • Artist Bio: carries the sea with memories
  • Potluck item at Elmaz's: Maybe my pulled chicken adobo again? (;






The Afternoon Elephant in the Lunch Break Room



The Ravenel Bridge in Charleston

is a white, looming structure
over the south peninsula

where I climb over the fence
and think: not of dying
but meeting the black medical student

who jumped into the teal,
shimmering bay
just a few days earlier

at work, we heard the news



over the radio, interspersed
between minute-to-minute broadcast updates
about a white man who stopped traffic

drove into the bridge's concrete wall
wrote with black, bolded letters on
the side of his truck: I want to die

he didn't succeed in killing himself
but his life story was on the tip
of everybody's tongues

unlike the black medical student



whose story was spat out by the townsfolk
forgotten and thrown to the sea like her body
dismantled by the coldness

my coworker said: "Poor guy;
he gone and try to kill 'imself.
I gave my peace. Sent my prayers to heaven.

but that bridge's fence needs to be higher.
other folks can't be trusted."
"others like whom?" I asked her

but she dodged my looks



with her pretty, sea-blue eyes
so here I am, standing
at the edge of the bridge

at the tip of the concrete wall
and over the fence
cars past by me and honk

I'm not thinking of dying
I just came here to ask her:
how does it feel

to be remembered?

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