‘Today, I Am A Witness To Change’: A Crowdsourced Poem Against Anti-Asian Hate
April is National Poetry Month, a celebration of poets and poetry that’s been in place for 25 years.
Last month, as the U.S. grieved over attacks against Asian Americans, NPR’s Morning Edition collected poems on how people grapple with the increased violence and discrimination.
Over 500 listeners shared powerful, poignant poems — in the form of a list beginning with the word “today.” They showcased fear, anger, empathy and motivation to make the world a better place.
NPR’s resident poet Kwame Alexander took lines from the submissions to create a community poem, “Today, I Am A Witness To Change.” Contributors are credited at the bottom.
Today, I Am A Witness To Change
Today, I wake up tired
a tiredness that plagues me
soft grey hues, contrasting over a grieving landscape,
filled with many frigid hearts.
Today, I ache
I lay in the pre-dawn
Moonshadows on my window blinds
Contented kittens purring at my side.
On the radio, news of greater challenges
Challenges that require more than I can handle alone
An Asian-American died because of hate.
a child lost his mother.
Today we mourn
I cry and pray for the world.
I want the attacks to be called what they are: Terrorism.
Today I feel we need more than conversation
Let us take more than a moment of silence
Let us find our humanity
Let us remember
Let us take action
Today I hesitate
for the first time, I wonder if I should stay home and not walk the neighborhood.
it’s not the weather or the virus — the day is beautiful
I cannot hide
I see the punch, punch, punch of a community at war.
Today I am a witness.
I rush past the jeering white boys that say I brought corona to America.
My soul is wary.
Today, a video call full of empty boxes
Stares at me, apprehensively.
Students locked behind a screen
Their hearts and minds
From one another.
Today, the headlines say March Madness
Today, I don’t watch basketball.
The madness is in the streets.
In broad daylight.
On the concrete sidewalks of New York.
In the silence of bystanders.
It’s in the textbooks. The classrooms. The family dinners. The lies we tell.
Today the rain falls
a silent tear from a weeping woman.
Today, I will say their names
I will cancel class and try again tomorrow.
Today, a Chinese man travels back in time.
The hateful and racist words hurled at a lonely child emerges from buried memories
Today I offer a slice of my own wounded soul
to graft a love patch
A patchwork piece for a more perfect union
Today, I think about my best friend’s Korean Mom,
if it was her kicked to the ground
in New York,
or punched in California,
or shot in Georgia.
Today I remember the idea
as a melting pot
the past twelve years
looking over my shoulder
watching my back
The Steak and Shake waitress in 2006
Who outright refused to wait on me
Who threw the menu
In great disdain
The young woman in Alum Creek
Who was with her boyfriend
who Threw a stone at me
Because I was doing my Tai Chi
At the top of the 116 steps
That I loved to go up and down
I want to be somewhere
and nowhere at once
I cringe at our disunity
I stand back in awe of the never diminishing divisiveness
I cry for the misunderstood and those that misunderstand
Today I tell my youngest child that
when I was a child
I wished I was white
I was silent
I allowed people around me to mispronounce my name
Today the dragon bends
From western winds
Blown hot from valleys deep.
Scorched skies belie the spring.
Heads bowed. All weep.
Outside my window, the daughter bends to examine the fish in the pond,
slowly gliding out of their winter torpor. Her name means
celebration in Chinese. It also means blessing.
Today I remember the sacrifices of my grandmother
Her steely eyes that shed many tears
Her small, sinewy hands that clung to her children
Her diminutive feet that leapt over the ocean
Today, I will use her strength that courses through my veins.
Today I am witness to change
As I sit inside our bookstore,
arranging the carefully printed and bound
words of so many voices
I wonder who will welcome the truth
The Joy Luck Club
The Hungry Tide
So many words
Each leaving an imprint
Like a grain of rice
Stockpiled and cataloged
knowledge gleaned, gathered
Today I will ferry you across the troubled waters.
hold you close, in any way you crave.
Today, I think not only of the cold ignorance of man
but the small ember of warmth we transfer when we love.
Today, I rise.
Today, we stop telling lies.
I will stand.
I will speak.
I will stand.
I will speak.
Today, I will return to normal
we will persevere
This community poem was created using submissions by:
Frankie Wood-Black, Ponca City, Okla.
Andrew Ensor, Knoxville, Tenn.
Todd Gardner, Tallahassee, Fla.
Jessie Bergamini, League City, Texas
Therese Glowacki, Boulder, Colo.
Rosa Nam, Houston
Veronica Crane-Lindsey, Asheville, N.C.
Ernest Wong, Broomfield, Colo.
Ali Stephens, Bossier City, La.
Andrew Adams, Effingham, Ill.
Joshua Grove, Oregon City, Ore.
Matt Harr, Marietta, Ga.
Thazin Nu, Columbus, Ohio
Lisa Burgess, Kansas City, Mo.
Heidi Pennington, Harrisonburg, Va.
Anita Rao, Oakland, Calif.
Amanda Ladish, Fayetteville, Ariz.
Michelle Alumkal, Beacon, N.Y.
Christopher Standish, Windsor, Conn.
Rebecca Dodge, Midland, Texas
Sueño LeBlond, Brattleboro, Vt.
Chiara Andres, San Francisco
Lesly Sanocki, Beaverton, Ore.
Sydney Cottongim, Milwaukee, Wisc.
Sherwin Kendall, Deltona, Fla.
Marilyn Temkin, New York City
Lyn Pyle, Honolulu, Hawaii
Susan Mcclellan, Pittsburgh, Pa.
Kundai Chikowero, Goleta, Calif.
Karen Tan Hanson, Minneapolis
Donna Joyner, New Bern, N.C.
Natalie Truong, Davis, Calif.
Kari Cameron, Churchville, N.Y.
Jane Ujhazi, Bandon, Ore.
Christine P San Mateo, Calif.
Tim McCarthy, Fox Point, Wisc.
Wendy Tang, San Francisco
Unhei Chong, Washington, D.C.
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