Poetry as a Form of Home

The most common question I get asked is "Why poetry?"

I would always brush off the question with “why not poetry," but the truth is as a first-generation, black, Muslim, woman, navigating language has always been hard. Poetry has always been the back bending tool where I found language. It’s not so much looking for a way out but an intriguing way in. My greatest influences has always been Minnesota. The people who live in the places where I’m from, my refugee grandma with one leg and 2x the hustle, the immigrant track star in the hood who didn’t quite make it, the kids of color I grew up with born in the US in the refugee resettlement neigborhood chasing the world until the street lights came on, eating each other’s food, always trying to pick up each other’s languages.  trying to figure out America together while dancing to the hottest hip-hop track. All of my influences are the people who make the city I come from a living, breathing thing. Of course, I could list poets. Maya Angelou gave me permission. Morgan Parker gave me permission. Ebony Stewart gave me permission. I could do this all day and night, but without the real people to fill in the craft that I have, I wouldn’t be writing the poems I believe in. My biggest influence is the Midwest. My biggest influences are cities of undescribable cultures and languages who struggle, yet still find community. My biggest influence is the story of where someone is from, a child taking their bike out on their own for the first time and discovering every corner of a world that seemed impossible to them moments before.