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Poem-a-Day: "Facing US" by Amanda Johnston

About this Poem 

“I wrote this poem after Yusef Komunyakaa’s poem ‘Facing It.’ Through Komunyakaa’s poem, the reader witnesses a black veteran facing his past in the Vietnam War at the Vietnam Veterans Memorial. I wanted to use the structure of that poem to look at the state sponsored war on black people in the United States. The opening statement in the video of my reading the poem is from the Black Poets Speak Out campaign. It unifies poets around the world who speak out against police violence.”
Amanda Johnston

Facing US

            after Yusef Komunyakaa 
 
 
My black face fades,
hiding inside black smoke. 
I knew they'd use it,
dammit: tear gas. 
I'm grown. I'm fresh. 
Their clouded assumption eyes me
like a runaway, guilty as night,
chasing morning. I run
this way—the street lets me go. 
I turn that way—I'm inside 
the back of a police van
again, depending on my attitude
to be the difference. 
I run down the signs 
half-expecting to find
my name protesting in ink.
I touch the name Freddie Gray;
I see the beat cop's worn eyes. 
Names stretch across the people’s banner
but when they walk away 
the names fall from our lips. 
Paparazzi flash. Call it riot. 
The ground. A body on the ground. 
A white cop’s image hovers
over us, then his blank gaze 
looks through mine. I’m a broken window. 
He’s raised his right arm 
a gun in his hand. In the black smoke 
a drone tracking targets: 
No, a crow gasping for air.  

Copyright © 2018 by Amanda Johnston. Originally published in Poem-a-Day on March 19, 2018, by the Academy of American Poets.

Copyright © 2018 by Amanda Johnston. Originally published in Poem-a-Day on March 19, 2018, by the Academy of American Poets.

Amanda Johnston

Amanda Johnston

Amanda Johnston is the author of the poetry collection Another Way to Say Enter (Argus House Press, 2017).

by this poet

poem
             after Gwendolyn Brooks 
 
I count the years after you, 
know your would-be ages and remember
the sadness that consumed me with the 
bitter sound of you, my almost-children.
Could not conceive in conceiving you 
our muted
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