A Blog of Seattle Arts & Lectures
With and Without With my father carrying me to the orphanage home. Without me knowing what was going on. With my cousins wailing in the distance. Without a thought of leaving home. Without a thought o...
This essay is part of a series in which Poetry Northwest partners with Seattle Arts & Lectures to present reflections on visiting writers from SAL’s Poetry Series. Danez Smith reads at 7...
By Alex Madison, WITS Writer-in-Residence In honor of the season, I thought I’d share a lesson I’ve taught seventh graders at TOPS K-8 during my two years with Writers in the Schools—it involves...
By Danielle Palmer-Friedman, SAL Volunteer When I asked Seattle Civic Poet Anastacia-Reneé (she/they) why I should go see Danez Smith (they/them) speak on November 26, she had this to say: “Get you...
My Names the last name is my dad. white. a dog full of unconditional love. me as well. crooked teeth, not common but common enough to know how to say and spell like you know me. cooper. my middle name...
Compass That Points her Home My mother is Korean, from a small fishing village (not so small now), in South Korea. It’s called 퍼 항, ...
Give Me Your Tired I can say all that where I come from to where my parents, and their parents were born.
Stand Up America, America a place that is unknown like history there are secrets that have never been told Many have stood up for years, why don’t we celebrate them, why don’t we give them cheers ...
I’m Planting Waterfalls: A Letter To America America, where have your white stars flown? Why do the stripes on your flag look like crossbones? Gravestone pathways you say… America, why do I see my...
Imperfect A dark purple bruise on perfect skin Hidden, painful, an accident But I know, I am the eye opened, watchful, while the other is closed I see it all The perfect world that everyone sees now M...