Poetry is the language of our truth.

What we reveal when we dare to name ourselves

May 10, 2026

“Poems are testimonies of a spiritual search.” Manuel Iris

This month, I volunteered to teach poetry at a few elementary schools in Harlem and Brooklyn.

We worked on the classic “My Name” poem, where students write down their name and fill in different characteristics about themselves.

I am...(your name)
I wonder...(something to be curious about)
I hear...(an imaginary sound).

Their poems were touching, sweet, with a lot of depth. Some of the students wondered about their families, the economy, and their futures.

I wonder about the same thing, kid.

One student’s poem has stuck with me and will continue to live with me. He was working on an acrostic poem, and he wrote down, “Joyless.”

“Are you sure you want to write down joyless?” I asked. “There are other words that start with the letter J.”

“Yes,” James said. “I am joyless.”

“Maybe you don’t mean joyless,” I said again. “Do you get excited about things?”

“I get excited,” James said resolutely. “But I don’t have any joy.”

As his final words landed inside my chest, the boy’s baby face aged, and I moved closer to him. The afternoon sun was spilling through the window, and both of us moved instinctively under the rays like house plants. We spent the rest of the class period finding words, uncovering the silences that were embedded in every orifice of his skin.