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.

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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.