American Sonnet
by Corey Baron
after Wanda Coleman
See, I come from a long line of loud mouths. My folks say
Any horde of huddled bodies singing to a God can be a choir. So tell me
Where to find the bones of the ones bold enough to sing
Their own gritty gospel & I’ll show you exactly where my blood
Runs. In this deep-brown forest of scarred hands, gently swaying like dying
Leaves in one heaving breath, one might plead loud enough to pierce a star-
Studded sky. & so, to catch any blessings that a song might shake
Loose from a stingy God, my hands stay open like wounds
On a hard-headed child. Every piece of pavement we stand on is painted
In our blood. Let it spill & shine & spell out the names
Of all my niggas who now live in the stars. Glimmering & dancing
In one single body, making the night sky their own make-shift
Casket. Giving birth to their own genre of ghosts. My folks
Say that any horde of huddled bodies under a dark enough sky is a funeral.
Corey Baron is a Black poet and photographer from New Rochelle, New York. He currently attends New York University where he studies Media, Culture, and Communication with a focus on visual cultures, along with creative writing. Corey feels most alive when he is reading/writing, singing loudly, loving his people, and biking downhill. Keep up with his forthcoming work on Instagram @thecoreybaron.