Now more than ever we are looking for ways to feel less aloneâand poetry can be one way to bring people together.
Last month NPR asked listeners to respond to art with a poemâa style of poetry called ekphrastic. For inspiration, Kwame Alexander, NPR’s poet in residence, selected two paintings: Kadir Nelson’s Heatwave and Salvador Dali’s Young Woman at a Window. Both show women inside looking longingly out into the world.
The paintings struck a chord with those experiencing the global coronavirus pandemic quarantined inside. We received more than 1,300 submissions.
Alexander took lines and excerpts from some of the submissions and created a crowdsourced, community poem of hope. Contributors are credited at the bottom.
Social Distance
Summer bears down on the city like granny’s old quilt
Her potted plant swoons on the ledge out of breath. Eyes closed, attuned to a second skin of sweat, she stretches neck and torso, searching for a cool note rising from the street below.
The Fantastical Queen Her Crown of wrapped locks The jewels in her melanin Sparkle her body slick in Brooklyn’s summer oiled mahogany
From her window she holds court She reigns where dogs interact with rainbows For her, plants bow their head down low. Hottest Thang In Town Stuck inside all day.
She opens all the windows, her imagination of freedom something to hold onto.
Only half there her mind is far off Across the world.
kayaking quietly gazing at glaciers watching waves dance a boat out to sea
The sea breeze blowing against her loneliness Perched up in the hills Overlooking a world of fraud Soul ready to sail away
You see, smart women bend like stems grabbing at the light muscles coat limbs as eyelids stalk the horizon to calculate what comes next drought or a wall of water high cheekbones not afraid to climb out or crawl up.
It is the same horizon no matter the color. The same sun.
Guess that’s how Rapunzel felt Staring freedom in its face Terrified of the unknown But wanting to escape Quarantined by society Restricted by these walls.
Shouting streets stilled people’s voices wilted like plants. no dinner with friends.
The sea is forever capricious A mercurial creature with fickle temperament The gentle blue of harbor water hides its ferocity Like a wolf in sheepskin
But, she will not wilt.
Sometimes as day descends The dog can have the fabricated ice, the artificial colors. She takes the water cool and clear, and The city’s façade can’t hold her, from sailing away on the tide of night.
She sees herself in the sky. in the muddied turquoise of the curtain In the warm turquoise of the window frame in the gentle peace that shall not last.
She is not thinking about the next time they will see each other She is not thinking about the last time they saw each other She is not thinking about the empty grocery shelves She is not thinking about the furrowed frowning eyebrows She is not thinking about the word quarantine and why it sounds so social She is not thinking about the way her lungs hold onto air like making love to molecules She is not thinking about the grandmother and grandfather in Apt 2c She is not thinking about whether clouds are aware of their silly shapes and feel self-conscious She is not thinking about whether the butter will last
At the window, she considers that She is not who she was, and she is not who she will be. She is transforming. She will be strong and resilient. She will be honest with herself and those she loves. She will have stories to tell And when she does They will no longer shake her voice.
From here, she will see the anxiety, the worry, paint over its bold permanence, like oil and acrylic on canvas. From here, She HOPES, offering it to neighbors from a safe distance. From here, she SINGS, transcending the dark somber strain From here, She BELIEVES, we will get through this From here, today will be good, and tomorrow will be better.
This community poem was created using submissions by:
Becky Boling, Northfield, Minn.
Thu Nguyen, Washington, D.C.
Tehmina Khan, San Francisco
Daniela Larsson, Litchfield, Ct.
Myer Schmitz, Champlin, Minn.
Katrina Kiss, Oswego, Ill.
Lisa Sarasohn, Asheville, N.C.
Deborah Meltvedt, Sacramento, Calif.
Danielle Evennou, Washington, D.C.
Maggie Chism, Mich.
Katherine Shafer, Ypsilanti, Mich.
Kevin Cheb, Ellicott City, Md.
Sheba Montserrat, London
Lorian Tompkins, Clinton Township, Mich.
Keyan Kaplan, East Setauket, N.Y.
Abel Koury, Columbus, Ohio
Charles Sharpe, Bainbridge Island, Wash.
Josh Lawrence, Portland, Ore.
Rachael Vella-Garrido, Buffalo, N.Y.
Sarah Teague, Carbondale, Colo.
Jeevika Verma and Reena Advani produced and edited this story for broadcast. Casey Noenickx adapted it for the Web.
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