Quotessence
Home / Authors / Jericho Brown
Jericho Brown

Jericho Brown Quotes

Poet

Filter quotes by topic

AllPoetryPoemAfrican AmericansBlacksDeathCoronavirusCovid 19PoemsAmericaMurderPandemicPoetsPolicePolice BrutalityQueernessAngerAnonymityArtAsksBelieve

Famous Jericho Brown Quotes

“By the time the blooms Unfurl themselves for a few hours of light, the women who tend them Are already at work. Blue. I’ll never know who started the lie that we are lazy, But I’d love to wake that bastard up At foreday in the morning, toss him in a truck, and drive him under God Past every bus stop in America to see all those black folk Waiting to go work for whatever they want.”

PoetryWomenWorkMorningPoemsFlowersBlack WomenAfrican AmericansBlacksWorking
Book:The Tradition
Create image

“All my anxiety is separation anxiety. I want to believe you are here with me, But the bed is bigger and the trash Overflows. Someone righteous should Take out my garbage. I am so many odd And enviable things. Righteous is not One of them. I’d rather a man to avoid Than a man to imagine in a realm Unseen, though even the doctor who Shut your eyes swears you’re somewhere As close as breath. Mine, not yours. You don’t have breath. You got Heaven. That’s supposed to be my Haven. I want you to tell me it sparkles There. I want you to tell me anything Again and again while I turn you over To quiet you or to wake and remind you I can’t be expected to clean up after a man.”

LoveDeathPoetryLossGriefPoemMourning
Book:The Tradition
Create image

“We’d like a list of what we lost Think of those who landed in the Atlantic The sharkiest of waters Bonnetheads and thrashers Spinners and blacktips We are made of so much water Bodies of water Bodies walking upright on the mud at the bottom The mud they must call nighttime Oh there was some survival Life After life on the Atlantic—this present grief So old we see through it So thick we can touch it And Jesus said of his wound Go on, touch it I don’t have the reach I’m not qualified I can’t swim or walk or handle a hoe I can’t kill a man Or write it down A list of what we lost The history of the wound The history of the wound That somebody bought them That somebody brought them To the shore of Virginia and then Inland Into the land of cliché I’d rather know their faces Their names My love yes you Whether you pray or not If I knew your name I’d ask you to help me Imagine even a single tooth I’d ask you to write that down But there’s not enough ink I’d like to write a list of what we lost. Think of those who landed in the Atlantic, Think of life after life on the Atlantic— Sweet Jesus. A grief so thick I could touch it. And Jesus said of his wound, Go on, touch it. But I don’t have the reach. I’m not qualified. And you? How’s your reach? Are you qualified? Don’t you know the history of the wound? Here is the history of the wound: Somebody brought them. Somebody bought them. Though I know who caught them, sold them, bought them, I’d rather focus on their faces, their names.”

PoetryPoemSlaveryAfrican AmericansBlacksSlavesSlave ShipsMiddle Passage
Book:Four Hundred Souls: A Community History of African America, 1619-2019
Create image