Gwendolyn Brooks: America in the Wintertime
by Haki R. Madhubuti

Read an automated transcript.

in this moment of orangutans, wolves, and scavengers,
of high heat redesigning the north & south poles
and the wanderings of new tribes in limousines,
with the confirmations of liars, thieves, and get-over artists, 
in the wilderness of pennsylvania avenue,
standing rock, misspelled executive orders 
on yellow paper with crooked signatures. 
where are the kind language makers among us? 
at a time of extreme climate damage,
deciphering fake news, alternative truths, and me-ism
you saw the twenty-first century and left us
not on your own accord or permission.
you have fought and fought most of the twentieth century 
creating an army of poets who learned
and loved language and stories
of complicated rivers, seas, and oceans. 
where is the kind green nourishment of kale and wheatgrass?
you thought, wrote, and lived poetry, 
knew that terror is also language based 
on denial, first-ism, and rich cowards. 
you were honey and yes to us, 
never ran from Black as in bones, Africa,
blood and questioning yesterdays and tomorrows. 
we never saw you dance but you had rhythm, 
you were a warrior before the war,
creating earth language, uncommon signs and melodies, 
and did not sing the songs of career slaves. 
keenly aware of tubman, douglass, wells-barnett, du bois,
and the oversized consciousness and commitment of never-quit people 
religiously taking note of the bloodlust enemies of kindness
we hear your last words: 
    america
    if you see me as your enemy 
    you have no
    friends. 

"Gwendolyn Brooks: America in the Wintertime" by Haki R. Madhubuti. Used by permission of the poet.