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Notes:

Note to POL students: The inclusion or omission of the numeral in the title of the poem should not affect the accuracy score. It is optional during recitation.

Originally titled "'Hope' is the thing with feathers - (314)"

Emily Dickinson, "'Hope' is the Thing with Feathers" from The Complete Poems of Emily Dickinson, edited by Thomas H. Johnson, ed., Cambridge, Mass.: The Belknap Press of Harvard University press, Copyright © 1951, 1955, 1979, 1983 by the President and Fellows of Harvard College. Reprinted by permissions of the publishers and Trustees of Amherst College.

Source: The Poems of Emily Dickinson Edited by R. W. Franklin (Harvard University Press, 1999)

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"Hope" is the thing with feathers by Emily... | Poetry Foundation

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Those Winter Sundays by Robert Hayden | Poetry Foundation

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Afro-Latina,

Camina conmigo.

Salsa swagger

anywhere she go

como

'¡la negra tiene tumbao!

¡Azúcar!'

Dance to the rhythm.

Beat the drums of my skin.

Afrodescendant,

the rhythms within.

The first language

I spoke was Spanish.

Learned from lullabies

whispered in my ear.

My parents' tongue

was a gift

which I quickly forgot

after realizing

my peers did not understand it.

They did not understand me.

So I rejected

habichuela y mangú,

much preferring Happy Meals

and Big Macs.

Straightening my hair

in imitation of Barbie.

I was embarrassed

by my grandmother's

colorful skirts

and my mother's

eh brokee inglee

which cracked my pride

when she spoke.

So, shit, I would poke fun

at her myself,

hoping to lessen

the humiliation.

Proud to call myself

American,

a citizen

of this nation,

I hated

Caramel-color skin.

Cursed God

I'd been born

the color of cinnamon.

How quickly we forget

where we come from.

So remind me,

remind me

that I come from

the Taínos of the río

the Aztec,

the Mayan,

Los Incas,

los Españoles

con sus fincas

buscando oro,

and the Yoruba Africanos

que con sus manos

built a mundo

nunca imaginado.

I know I come

from stolen gold.

From cocoa,

from sugarcane,

the children

of slaves

and slave masters.

A beautifully tragic mixture,

a sancocho

of a race history.

And my memory

can't seem to escape

the thought

of lost lives

and indigenous rape.

Of bittersweet bitterness,

of feeling innate,

the soul of a people,

past, present and fate,

our stories cannot

be checked into boxes.

They are in the forgotten.

The undocumented,

the passed-down spoonfuls

of arroz con dulce

a la abuela's knee.

They're the way our hips

skip

to the beat of cumbia,

merengue

y salsa.

They're in the bending

and blending

of backbones.

We are deformed

and reformed

beings.

It's in the sway

of our song,

the landscapes

of our skirts,

the azúcar

beneath our tongues.

We are

the unforeseen children.

We're not a cultural wedlock,

hair too kinky for Spain,

too wavy for dreadlocks.

So our palms

tell the cuentos

of many tierras.

Read our lifeline,

birth of intertwine,

moonbeams

and starshine.

We are every

ocean crossed.

North Star navigates

our waters.

Our bodies

have been bridges.

We are the sons

and daughters,

el destino de mi gente,

black

brown

beautiful.

Viviremos para siempre

Afro-Latinos

hasta la muerte.

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Skip to main content Afro-Latina, Camina conmigo. Salsa swagger anywhere she go como '¡la negra tiene tumbao! ¡Azúcar!' Dance to the rhythm. Beat the drums of my skin. Afrodescendant, the rhythms within. The first language I spoke was Spanish. Learned from lullabies whispered in my ear.

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A poet, novelist, fiction writer, and playwright, Langston Hughes is known for his insightful, colorful portrayals of black life in America from the twenties through the sixties and was important in shaping the artistic contributions of the Harlem Renaissance.

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Theme for English B - The instructor said,

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my parents lounge was a gift- metaphor

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I’d wake and hear the cold splintering, breaking.

When the rooms were warm, he’d call,

and slowly I would rise and dress,

fearing the chronic angers of that house - allusion

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fearing the chronic angers of that house - personification

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" I wonder if it's that simple? "

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I am the only colored student in my class.
The steps from the hill lead down into Harlem,
through a park, then I cross St. Nicholas,
Eighth Avenue, Seventh, and I come to the Y,
the Harlem Branch Y, where I take the elevator
up to my room, sit down, and write this page

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"I feel and see and hear, Harlem, I hear you." -imagery

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"Being me, it will not be white.
But it will be a part of you, instructor. You are white— yet a part of me, as I am a part of you. That's American." -metaphor

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"Our bodies have been bridges." metaphor

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"Beat the drums of my skin."
metaphor

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"I’d wake and hear the cold splintering, breaking." -Allusion

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"fearing the chronic angers of that house" - personification

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" 'Hope' is the thing with feathers" -metaphor

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" And sweetest - in the Gale - is heard- And sore must be the storm" Assonance

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The word "Harlem", "white".

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The word "cold".

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Certain words in the poem.

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fearing the chronic angles of the house-feelings

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And sings the tune without the words-metaphor

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I feel and see and hear, Harlem,  I hear you

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I feel and see and hear, Harlem,  I hear you

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"It's not easy to know what is true for you or me at twenty-two, my age. But I guess I'm what
I feel and see and hear, Harlem"

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"And sings the tune without the words -"-metaphor
devyn

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"Our bodies have been bridges."  metaphor
devyn

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"Go home and write a page tonight and let the page come out of you"-metaphor

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"I guess being colored doesn't make me not like
the same things other folks like who are other races.
So will my page be colored that I write?"- personification

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"Read our lifeline,
birth of intertwine,
moonbeams
and starshine."- Rhyming

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"We're not a cultural wedlock,
hair too kinky for Spain,
too wavy for dreadlocks."- Refrain

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"Sundays too my father got up early
and put his clothes on in the blueblack cold, then with cracked hands that ached from labor in the weekday weather made
banked fires blaze."- Imagery

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"Speaking indifferently to him,
who had driven out the cold
and polished my good shoes as well." - Metaphor

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"“Hope” is the thing with feathers"- Imagery

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"I’ve heard it in the chillest land -
And on the strangest Sea -
Yet - never - in Extremity,
It asked a crumb - of me."- Rhyming