Radicle Book Two Thirst

RADICLE book two

Karla Robinson

Poetry and Design: Karla Robinson 2024 Document. Dream. Disrupt. Boutique Press

For Mommy & Daddy

Irene Rebecca & Chester Wadsworth & love so strong, seeds stay sprouting

radicle, noun Botany: the first organ to appear when a seed germinates.

It grows downward into the soil, anchoring the seedling.

Anatomy: A rootlike subdivision of a nerve or vein.

Often mistaken, & in this realm, poetically interchangeable for its homophone

radical, adjective Relating to or affecting the fundamental nature of something far-reaching or thorough, favoring extreme changes in existing views, habits, conditions, or institutions.

Thirst

I am Karla, Daughter of Chester Wadsworth Robinson named for Henry Wadsworth Longfellow by his mother my grandmother Annie teacher and hostess of poetry readings in Norfolk, Virginia in the 1920s, despite the Middle Passage.

Africans lured and kidnapped made kin to the Door of No Return eluded being fed to salty waters survived reading and writing being outlawed, yet still found a way to pass on a thirst for words.

I am Karla, Daughter of the "can’t-we-all-just-get-along?" multicultural curriculum of the late ‘80s, early ‘90s, The Book Not Bars movement of the Millennium.

Daughter of Mother Poetry meets Father Social Justice.

Daughter of my privilege, I cannot deny.

Despite my account balance my melanin my ovaries my zip code and my general dis-ease my parents are literate English speakers.

They're no tree huggersthey're book lovers.

7

We had parties when we could write our names because it meant we could get our library cards.

My parents corrected me when I used improper grammar.

They saw so clearly what this skill could give me and in school, I experienced so starkly what it would take.

It was drama in my house as I stumbled, learning to code-switch and live between worlds.

I can still see the hurt in my mother’s eyes when I tried to explain about "talking white."

"Think about what you're saying. Karla About yourself, about all Black peoples.”

My parents were clear from Day One. My debt to them wouldn’t be paid until I graduated from college.

9

I am Karla, Daughter of destroyed documents.

Painful decades turned silence, turned into lost any remembrance of.

So I never knew my Grandma Annie.

I can’t speak to exactly who attended these poetry readings.

Or who taught who taught whom phonics quietly in corners so as not to endanger life.

But I know stories of Black boys in men’s bodies who did not learn to read until they got to jail, who taught themselves in their cells.

Who sabotaged and returned to where life isn’t heavy with decision after decision after decision because that muscle atrophies and it’s excruciatingly painful to even attempt to grow it back.

Daughter of a system with a plan for Black peoples to be poor, illiterate, addicted, with unlimited access to war weaponry leading to death and/or incarceration.

11

I know stories of disgust with poetry disgust with me when I walk in a room saying, "I believe everyone has a story to tell and everyone can write a great poem.

I believe in your success.”

Stories of silence meeting deafening chaos.

Frustrated I can't sit and help him sound out the letters.

Strategies of days gone by, translated and sent Priority Mail.

Self addressed stamped envelopes in letters home for students who need permission to put their words in books.

Permission slips do not come back.

There is no recollection when I call.

Little time for interest “…exactly what is this verbal consent for?"

Only light-weight celebration when their books come out.

13

Somehow my lineage escaped this particular plot line.

Did Grandma Annie choose to stay invisible?

Did she play dumb?

Or was she loud and brazen“Yes, I can read.

And my children can read.

You cannot take that from us.”

A great day with my studentsone moment towards healing hundreds of years.

A hellish daymementos from our past regurgitated.

15

Document.

Dream.

Disrupt.

Bronx, NY