The Dream of a Common Language
after Adrienne Rich
On Wednesdays I take the train past Yankee Stadium,
to a place where it is never a given that I speak the language,
to a place where graffiti covers the mural they painted to hide
the graffiti, to a place where the children call me Miss Miss
Miss Miss Miss and I find in one of their poems, a self-portrait,
the line I wish I was rish. The dream of a common language
is the language of one million dollars, of basketball, of plátanos.
Are the kids black? my boyfriend wants to know. Dominican.
It’s different. When asked to write down a question
they wish they could ask their mom or dad, one boy writes,
Paper or plastic? A girl in the back of the class wants to know
Why don’t I have lycene, translating the sound of the color
of my skin into her own language. The best poet
in sixth grade is the girl who is this year repeating
sixth grade. When I tell her teacher of her talent
she says, At least now we know she’s good
at something. To speak their language, I study
the attendance list, practice the cadence of their names.
Yesterday I presented a black and white portrait of a black man,
his bald head turned away from us, a spotted moth resting
on one shoulder. I told them this is a man serving a life
sentence in Louisiana. Is this art? Without hesitation,
one girl said no, why would anybody
want to take a picture
from Poem-a-Day, 365 Poems for Every Occasion, Abrams Image, 2015
Leigh Stein is the author of the poetry collection Dispatch from the Future (Melville House, 2012). She lives in Brooklyn and teaches poetry in New York City’s public schools. She has also written a memoir: Land of Enchantment; and a novel: The Fallback Plan. Stein is co-founder and Executive Director of the nonprofit literary organization Out of the Binders. For her advocacy work, she has been called a “leading feminist” by the Washington Post, and a “woman of influence” by New York Business Journal.