Homie by Danez Smith, flat lay on a stone textured background

    today, i elect jonathan, eleven & already making roads out of water
    young genius, blog writer, lil community activist, curls tight
    as pinky swears, black as my nation    i trust the world in his tender
    blooming hands, i trust him to tell us which rivers are safe to drink
    & which hold fish like a promise

            & i elect eve ewing, who i know would ms. frizzle the country
            into one big classroom where grandmas finger paint
            the national budget & uncles stand around smoking blacks
            plotting on stars for our escape    she could walk to the podium
            at her inauguration & say, the future is now, & we’d all marvel
            at the sun & moon looping the sky like a gif as the cars learned
            to fly & our skin grew bulletproof

& colin kaepernick is my president, who kneels on the air
bent toward a branch, throwing apples down to the children & vets

                                & rihanna is my president, walking out of global summits
                                with wine glass in hand, our taxes returned in gold
                                to dust our faces into coins

            & my mama is my president, her grace stunts
            on amazing, brown hands breaking brown bread over
            mouths of the hungry until there are none unfed

                        & my grandma is my president & her cabinet is her cabinet
                        cause she knows to trust what the pan knows
                        how the skillet wins the war

                                        & the man i saw high kicking his way down the river?
                                        he is my president

        & the trans girl making songs in her closet, spinning the dark
        into a booming dress? she too is my president

& shonda rhimes is my president

                                        & nate marshall is my president

                            & trina is my president

                    & the boys outside walgreens selling candy
                    for a possibly fictional basketball team are my presidents                 

                    & the bus driver who stops after you yell wait! only twice
                    is my pres

        & the dude at the pizza spot who will give you a free slice
        if you are down to wait for him to finish the day’s fourth prayer
        is my president

& my auntie, only a few months clean, but clean
she is my president

                                & my neighbor who holds the door open when my arms
                                are full of laundry is my president

& every head nod is my president

             & every child singing summer with a red sweet tongue is my president

        & the birds

                                            & the cooks

                    & the single moms especially

                                            & the weed dealers

        & the teachers

                            & the meter maid who lets you slide

        & the cab drivers who stop

                & the nurse’s swollen feet
        & the braider’s exhausted hands
                                            & the bartender
                            & beyoncé
                            & all her kids
                                                        & the rabbi

                            & the sad girls

                                & the leather daddy who always stops to say good morning

       & the boy crying on the train & the sudden abuela who rubs his back
       & the uncle who offers him water & the drag queen who begins to hum

                                                o my presidents!
                                                    my presidents!
                                                    my presidents!
                                                    my presidents!

                    show me to our nation
        my only border is my body

                                    i sing your names
                                      sing your names
                                               your names

                                                        my mighty anthem

  • Homie

  • 'A deeply personal collection... and provocative and moving meditation on friendship, sex and blackness,' Guardian

    'In its cutting compassion, Homie is as much a celebration of loved ones' lives as it is a lament for their loss, equally a war cry for kinship and the burial dirge after the battle' Amanda Gorman

    A mighty anthem about the saving grace of friendship, Danez Smith's highly anticipated collection Homie is rooted in their search for joy and intimacy in a time where both are scarce. In poems of rare power and generosity, Smith acknowledges that in a country overrun by violence, xenophobia and disparity, and in a body defined by race, queerness, and diagnosis, it can be hard to survive, even harder to remember reasons for living. But then the phone lights up, or a shout comes up to the window, and family - blood and chosen - arrives with just the right food and some redemption.

    Part friendship diary, part bright elegy, part war cry, Homie is written for friends: for Danez's friends, for yours.

    '
    This is a book full of the turbulence of thought and desire, piloted by a writer who never loses their way' New York Times

  • Buy the book

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