Voice Clear As

When my mom discovers heaven’s just a noise festival

the godchoir of all her loves breathing
unsnagged by asthma or Newport-dragged lung

the true song life makes untethered from a body
tugged at last from the men who hold its reins

will she blame her pastors (like I did)
for Sunday portraits of pooled white gold?

Will she miss the wooden flute of her body
mourn the days corner-propped, cloaked in dust

too pious to disturb a room’s skin cells
and stray hair with her sound

snapped awake at the nightmare of a slip fringe
the private note sung aloud?

Or, unburdened by hell

will she exhale
and hear the bells?

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“Samiya Bashir is such a brilliant poet and generous teacher. She started our 2019 Tin House summer workshop sessions with free-write time prompted by three random words. It’s a practice I love and have tried to keep, as it gives me surprising new containers for my obsessions. This poem began with the words ‘noise,’ ‘breathing,’ and ‘festival’ (I asked my housemate to think of three for me), and out poured some of the concerns that shape my full-length debut, Against Heaven. I want freedom here on Earth, in our lifetimes.”
—Kemi Alabi