HOW DID YOU COME TO POETRY? TELL US THE STORY OF YOUR BEGINNING WITH POETRY.

I began writing poetry in the seventh grade. Initially they were just for English class assignments, writing poems about candles and french fries. They were all rhymey and kind of cheeky in that way that I thought was so clever and charming as a middle schooler. Eventually, though, I started writing poems to friends to make them feel better–poems about their worth and how great they are–because middle schoolers are earnest and dramatic in that way (at least I was). Not long after that, the poems became a way to make myself feel better, to process the world around and within me. Poetry became the way that I attempted to understand the cruelties of the world: the deaths of those that looked like me, my family in the midst of its own changes, the emotions that felt larger than my body, and it just stuck. And while I don’t consider poetry to be a replacement for therapy, it is certainly therapeutic for me. It was a centering activity when I was younger, and remains that way now.

WHAT DOES YOUR WRITING PROCESS LOOK LIKE, FROM BLANK PAPER (OR DOCUMENT) TO FINAL DRAFT?

While I do always have a notebook and pen in my bag just in case, usually most of my writing first occurs on my laptop on a blank document. I type out the rough draft all at once. Once that’s done, I go onto another blank page and employ a strategy taught to me by the incredible Chinaka Hodge, where I try to write the same poem out again without looking back at the original draft. The idea hopefully being that the good parts of the poem will remain and the flimsier lines, images, and/or metaphors will fall away. After that begins a long process of minor tweaks and revisions, changing words, punctuation, and line breaks here and there, reading it aloud a bunch to see what flows and what feels clunky. I do that sometimes for days, sometimes for months. Sometimes, if they aren’t busy, I’ll ask some close writer friends if they’d be willing to read it over and give me feedback. Once the poem is at a place that I’m proud of, I may consider submitting it to various places. Though, admittedly, I’m not the best at submitting regularly.

HOW DOES WRITING POETRY FIT INTO THE LARGER GOAL OF BRINGING AWARENESS TO RACIAL ISSUES? DO YOU BELIEVE POEMS CAN BRING ABOUT REAL CHANGE?

Oh, what a great question. Throughout my life, writing poetry has certainly helped me process the instances of racial violence that are far too common in our country. I do think that poetry can bring about real change. That being said, of course, nothing brings about real change more tangibly, and more rewardingly, than organizing in your community, volunteering for/with other grassroots organizations in your area, demanding more from your local/state representatives, and just getting to know the people of your neighborhood. And if poetry can help you toward any of those aims (which I believe it can) or even if poetry simply acts as a means to recharge one’s batteries and restore one’s spirit before rejoining the effort, then that is real change in my book.

DO YOU FIND YOURSELF ENCOUNTERING ETHICAL DILEMMAS WHILST WRITING AFTER — OR FROM THE PERSPECTIVE OF — OTHER PEOPLE AND THEIR EXPERIENCES?

I have thought about this a lot and ultimately the answer I’ve settled on is that if it seems like the poem is cheapening the material it is pulling from, a news story of a newly murdered Black teen for example, if the poem is simply using the story to give itself more gravity, or if I can imagine myself requiring permission from/needing to explain my intentions to the families affected, then it shouldn’t be in the poem, or be a poem at all. To put it in even simpler terms, if you find yourself concerned about an ethical dilemma while writing a poem, that may be a good indicator to stop. Not everything needs to be a poem, honestly. I’m also grateful to have some friends who keep me on track, who notice things that I may miss, and who generally always have my best interest at heart, even and especially when they tell me something I’ve written isn’t very good.

Not to mention that lately I find myself moving away from poems about violence or racial murder altogether and turning toward more nourishing things, more delightful and abundant things. And I think I am happier for it. When I was younger I used to think that only poems that were painful or laden with trauma could be considered good. Nothing could be further from the truth. Your poem won’t be more important if you write about death or racism or things of that sort than if you were to write about geese or clouds or your mother’s cooking.

IN “BLACK FLAMINGO”, YOU COMPARE THE LIFE OF BIRDS WITH THOSE OF BLACK PEOPLE. WHAT IS YOUR APPROACH TO IDENTIFYING AND INTEGRATING ANALOGIES THAT BOTH ENGAGE THE READER AND TACKLE HEAVY SUBJECTS?

Truthfully, I don’t think I have any sort of specific approach to how I craft the metaphors or analogies I do. I just write what feels right and what feels right changes all the time. Which feels like a silly answer, I know, but I’m not sure I have a better one haha. In the days prior to writing “Black Flamingo,” I had read a sweet essay about flamingos and decided I would write a poem about them. I didn’t know when I sat down to write it what kind of poem it would end up being. If you do find yourself curious on approaches to constructing engaging analogies and metaphors, Ocean Vuong has a great story highlight on his Instagram where he breaks down what makes an effective metaphor vs an ineffective one that I highly recommend checking out. It’s certainly better than anything I could say on the subject.

DO YOU EVER FIND YOURSELF CREATING CONNECTIONS BETWEEEN YOURSELF AND OTHER POETS, MUSICIANS, OR ARTISTS WHILE YOU ARE WRITING? CAN POEMS EVER TRULY BE “SOLO ACTS”?

Oh, I adore this question. And I think it’s a relatively easy one for me to answer. I am always making connections between myself and other poets/artists while I’m writing. I think it’s impossible not to. If we’re keeping with the bird analogies, my writing makes me feel kind of like a magpie. I am always remembering and collecting moments from other poems, songs, essays, movies, etc. Little tidbits here and there and maybe something from that glittering hoard will make its way into whatever I’m writing next. Oftentimes, for me, this process happens subconsciously, too.

Of course, it isn’t always stuff produced by other artists that I strive to hold in my memory and include in my work. The everyday world at any given moment is always bursting with splendors to write home about: a cool photo of a jellyfish, a big weeping willow in Brooklyn, the early evening sky doing that thing it does, a kid spilling chocolate ice cream all over himself, a good lemonade, a swooping osprey— the list goes on. By their very nature, poems are always reaching for something, always trying to capture/mimic/describe/resurrect/ some phenomenon, some feeling, some divine quality on the page. So, no, I don’t think poems can be solo acts. In a world like ours, how could they be?

YOU MENTIONED THAT YOU CURRENTLY WORK IN A BOOKSTORE. WHAT’S THE MOST SURPRISING THING YOU’VE LEARNED FROM ONE OF YOUR CUSTOMERS?

Learned? Hmm— I’m honestly not really sure. I’m amused that this, out of all the questions, is what’s stumping me. So instead I’ll just say support local bookstores! Anything Amazon can do, a local bookstore can do better and we have so many regulars at the store because they know it, too!

WHAT ARE THREE POEMS OR BOOKS ALL WRITERS AND READERS SHOULD KNOW?

Keeping it short and sweet with three poems that I deeply adore. Varying in length and subject matter, I think each of them are just marvelous and I reread them literally all the time.

“The End of Poetry” by Ada Limón, the final poem in her collection, The Hurting Kind.

“Catalog of Unabashed Gratitude” by Ross Gay, from his book of the same title.

“If Life Is As Short As Our Ancestors Insist It Is, Why Isn’t Everything I Want Already At My Feet” by Hanif Abdurraqib, from A Fortune For Your Disaster.

IN “WHAT GOOD IS IT TO SAY THE WORLD IS ENDING”, YOU WRITE, “DESPITE THESE DAILY DOOMSDAYS, I HAVE A CRUSH ON YOU, A PHRASE BOTH CHILDISH AND APPROPRIATE”. WHAT GOOD IS IT TO SAY THEE WORLD IS ENDING?

The main idea behind the poem was mostly that while I think it’s chiefly important that we remain cognizant of the dangers of climate change and demand policies that bring about more sustainable, equitable ways of living, I also vehemently detest and actively resist the nothing-we-can-do, the-world-is-ending-so-who-cares, defeatist attitude. Throwing in the towel doesn’t do anyone any good. So, really, the truncated version of this poem is twofold: yes, the world is ending, so what are we going to do about it? and yes, I have a crush on you, what am I going to do about it? After all, sometimes a crush can feel world-ending, too.

FINALLY, DO YOU HAVE ANY ADVICE FOR YOUNG BIPOC WRITERS LOOKING TO INITIATE WRITING JOURNEYS OF THEIR OWN?

This is a very common question, one that I was always asking when I was younger too because I so badly wanted to do what the writers I loved were doing, wanted to live the way they were living (or at the very least, how I assumed they were living). And though I’d love to offer some secret wisdom or previously unshared tidbits, the truth is that if you want to start a writing journey of your own all you have to do is write. Just write. If you like doing it, just do it. That’s always been the repeated wisdom and that’s because everyone’s writing journey is unique and can’t necessarily be replicated in the same way. The common denominator across them all, though, is writing. Everything else comes into focus after.