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The psychic asked me if I had any birthmarks on my wrists, and I pulled up my sleeve to show her: two raised bumps on my left wrist. She nodded.

They came with you into this life as a reminder from long ago, she said. Scars from the manacles they used to chain you to the wall. At first you fought and fought, but over time, you grew meek and silent. Your great purpose in this life is to reclaim your voice and your freedom. You’re getting better at it. Don’t ever let anyone abuse you again. The hell with them.

What the Wind, Rain, and Thunder Said to Tom, by Tyehimba Jess

Hear how sky opens its maw to swallow
Earth? To claim each being and blade and rock
with its spit? Become your own full sky. Own
every damn sound that struts through your ears.
Shove notes in your head till they bust out where
your eyes supposed to shine. Cast your lean
brightness across the world and folk will stare
when your hands touch piano. Bend our breath
through each fingertip uncurled and spread
upon the upright’s eighty-eight pegs.
Jangle up its teeth until it can tell
our story the way you would tell your own:
the way you take darkness and make it moan.

Click here to read more about poet Tyehimba Jess. Today’s poem is from his Pulitzer Prize-winning collection Olio, which gives imagined voice to minstrels forced to perform to make money for others, published by Wave Press in 2016.

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