Brittany Michelle Daniels, age 17
Henry Clay High School, Lexington, Kentucky

From Whence I Come

I am from concrete.
From RapidDry and ground minerals.
I am from sweet grass.
(Pressed into the pages of my memory
from Before.)

I am from White Oak and Onyx
Shadowy shimmers spellbinding
simplistic minds.
I am from midnight fires,
mischievous eyes.
From Christ - ina
                      - opher

I am from rashness and obstinacy.
From “Share Yourself” or “Give It Now”.
I am from a Void.
Lacking and seeking,
yet at peace with knowledge.

I am from Everywhere, and rose
from reservation stench.
From meat and bread.
I am from starting my own stories,
and learning from the ones that wound.

Caustic fire and clouding ash.
Sobs of a mother’s lost records.
Sent of sulfuric ink emitted
from yellowed pictures.
Retardant chemicals producing
further damage.

I am from hopes of a brighter future.
I am from naught but love.
I will be success and no more hunger.
I will be from being Happy.
(content, complex, coordinated.)

Kelechi Emetuche, age 14
Benjamin Franklin High School, New Orleans, Louisiana 

Mama Africa

A blanket of harsh summers
Unending poverty,
Trampled beauty, raw power and lion pride.
She gave to me unyielding strength,
Natural grace,
Stubbornness of an ox.
Back full of heavy burdens,
Hands weary from work, she carried me
Over her shoulder
Across her desert filled breasts
Sorrowful rivers of tears.
Sweeping cries for her people.
No, no they are not free.
Not free of the chains of poverty and inequality.
Full of life, she cannot show it.
She remains barren.
Teeming with riches, she cannot wear it.
Her will is broken.
Battle cries, she cannot stop them
Genocides, she cannot understand them.
She flows- blood red
The pain she’s in from bloodshed.
Light skin, have I.
Don’t remember her bright skies.
Six years without her touch
Her smell,
Her face,
Her smile,
I’m lost.
She brings us all,
All her children together.
Customs passed down forever
Established from times before,
Ancient rites performed through generations.
Potential yet to be cut.
A raw diamond.
Mystical languages that speak of her greatness.
Hand in hand, we come along
Voices raised, we sing her song.
Mama Africa, where I belong,
Mama Africa, where I’m from.