In My Own Words (And the Words of Everyone Else)

A poem inspired by Louis Armstrong and his work.

By Caitlin Whitaker

26 letters threaten to combust within me. Xs and Qs and Ys

Charge my esophagus, crowd my throat, spill in delicate drools down my chin

I bare my teeth, trapping them

I am homesick for a place that does not yet exist 

Will I find the words to tell you where I've been and where I want to go?

I am not ready (I will never be)

Let me tell you what I have seen 

I hear a cacophony. An interplay, back and forth, 

And 

The roots lie in Africa, 

Their skin sags with anguish, too heavy for their old bones

Moans crawl out of their throat

A groan passed down from grandmother to grandmother 

Spews through their cracked lips 

It ties me to the place from which we came 

The grass has no roots, it lays dead on the dirt pathway 

I hear the divine lend themselves through the wailing of the trumpet

She moves me, she sounds like, words are not enough

I do not consider myself religious, 

But the sound of the horn is the closest I have come to God

Blues are the sound of the city, the echo of your heartbeat, the reverb of our stories 

Will you allow me to diverge from my path? 

The syncopation of the drum, the moans, and the groans 

The smell of the south is indescribable (though I try)

It smells like red dirt, my grandmother's cornbread, and childhood wonder all at once

Grandpa’s rocking chair is the pulse grounding you and me

Back and forth and back and forth and 

Your stories are my lifeline 

The sound of the drum, bloody dirt beneath my feet, the feel of living 

There are 26 letters that lie between you and me

Let me tell you where I’ve been and what I’ve seen 

I won’t allow the Zs and Ls and Ps to scare me anymore

(So I write)