ISSN: 1941-4137
POETRY THAT ENACTS THE ARTISTIC AND CREATIVE PURITY OF GLASS
POETRY THAT ENACTS THE ARTISTIC AND CREATIVE PURITY OF GLASS
Deshawn McKinney is a writer proudly reppin the northside of Milwaukee, Wisconsin. His work is steeped in hip-hop and is a means of exploring liberation and the delicate balance of existence. He holds a Master in Social Policy from the London School of Economics and Political Science and a Master in Creative Writing — Poetry from the University of East Anglia. Deshawn has been published in the 2019 UEA MA Poetry Anthology and on Lolwe.
Also by Deshawn McKinney:
Three Poems
Like Sand from a Beach
What punctuation do you use when an empire crumbles?
A tweet inquires about which could go: , ; — of those four the colon seemed
least consequential to the poet, but the end of American hegemony requires a list, no?
A public reckoning of crimes
committed, line items of who made it
to citizenship and what white became white
when the melting pot risked boiling over. An accounting.
Silly I know but I wonder if writing by hand would be more responsive somehow; knowing this
thing may soon slip away it’s important to feel the weight, like lifting sand from a beach.
I remember walking through Chicago Nov 9th whiplashed — how quickly people procured
masks — you ever seen a hood assure life? They seemed to breathe fine.
I walked through Chicago again this July and mounted police held up traffic, the clop clop of
hooves slow and steady, how a thing must move when it has no fear
Ay y’all ever seen a nigga
on a horse? Grace isn’t lost
on us but neither is speed.
The fastest person alive and ever is Black and I don’t doubt somehow we can live vicariously
through the fall. But run where: Build what: This too requires a list.
I read somewhere that somewhere it was said the sun would never set and when it did the palace
closets were stocked with winter coats, never used. Imagine, all those accounts frozen.
An empire never views itself
as less than, but watching one heat itself into glass,
I am still amazed at how perfect the form
when it casts this final stone.1
1 Here I write with quill and feather, my hands too are unclean.
Glass: A Journal of Poetry is published monthly by Glass Poetry Press.
All contents © the author.
All contents © the author.
