We don’t all remember the
awkward child
we one were
Loved. Light
but not all right
fighting for something
that can’t or will not
be.
this has let me see
from right here in this
perpendicular moment.
My vantage and my whim
tell me what exactly i
feel ashamed
of, beloved.
(“Afropolarity”)
hines writes on being and accountability, visibility and safety, and on being Black in America, from the current state of the culture through the ripple effect of history. There is an enormous amount of heart in this collection, one that proclaims itself for the sake of safety, of protection; one that demands attention through language, making itself present, visible and known. “Now i re-narrate my own story.” hines writes, to open the poem “It’s time,” “i will no longer allow my story to be told by others. / i will not allow myself to be painted by anyone who / does not love me.” This is a powerful collection in really subtle, ongoing ways, which might be a curious comment upon a collection of poems that offer such enduring and ongoing proclamations, but hines’ use of language allows both that presence, and a layer of comprehension that for change to truly occur, it must also come from within. Or, as the poem “Black cope” ends:
i didn’t realize that
i already had a definition
i didn’t realize
i already had a name
be careful for what may
contain
anger
be cautious of what may
conceal
resentment
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