Poem by Kevin Young
I’ve come down with a case
of Paradise. I’ve contracted
Eden fever. I’m flush
with the wish to be allowed
to stay — to watch
the maples turn
from saplings to trunks
it takes four men
to topple. I’ve looked
around & found myself
like Hell, no more
livable than believed.
Like a kite the light
tangled in the trees.
*
The dead won’t meet
your eye — a strange dog
you should greet
fingers tucked under —
head averted —
The dead don’t
bite, but
bark & claw
your door all night.
This fever of mine
has no father
to feed it — no end —
the going — then —
going on —
*
The fury
of bees.
Feed me
till I sleep.
The penny’s
lament.
On a long journey
honey the only
thing that keeps.
*
Nobody’s good.
Everyone lies.
When I go
the only
mourners will be flies.
They arrive
wearing black robes,
almost polite.
I am reborn
with a billion eyes
& rise — at last
my head
clear & singing
like my wings.
*
I am easy enough
to find. Look for me
Where the rough dirt
meets paved street,
stones shining your shoes.
I don’t mind
being mistaken for one
Of the shadows
Courting the sun — how
it clouds & without seeking
Cannot be seen.
Know then the lush cover
of what might be leaves, rain
like a summons in the trees.
Kevin Young is the Andrew W. Mellon Director of the Smithsonian’s National Museum of African American History and Culture. He previously served as the director of the Schomburg Center for Research in Black Culture. Young is the author of more than 10 books of poetry and prose, including Stones; Brown; Blue Laws: Selected & Uncollected Poems 1995-2015; Jelly Roll: a blues, Bunk; and The Grey Album. The poetry editor of The New Yorker and host of the magazine’s poetry podcast, Young is the editor of nine other volumes, most recently the acclaimed anthology African American Poetry: 250 Years of Struggle & Song. He is a member of the American Academy of Arts and Sciences, the American Academy of Arts and Letters, the Society of American Historians, and was named a Chancellor of the Academy of American Poets in 2020.
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