“Two Poems,” Poem, Nana T. Baffour-Awuah.
I.
The Song
after ‘Caged Bird’ by Maya Angelou
You can cage the singer but not the song,
for the song is a thing immortal, long,
longing for undying dreams
with reach beyond corporeal seams.
You can cage the singer,
but not the song,
the one that shrieks ’bout what is wrong;
its melodies of love and truth,
to evil ears it does not soothe.
Yes, you can cage the singer.
But not the song.
No, not the song of divine making
in all its hues of holy aching,
its calls to heav’n never forsaking.
Never forsaking those who’ve lost
too much to ever find good cause
in crooked laws by wicked men,
the moral lack that governs them.
Those who refuse
to bend a knee, or trade their faith,
integrity. Those who refuse to kiss the ring;
oh this, this is the song they sing.
Insolent song,
a promised bringer
of things unknown but longed for still:
It lives, and lifts, and soars until
this war is won—and persists, still.
II.
Hypotheticals for a Homophobe (or a Queer Manifesto)
Does my sassiness seduce you,
does it fill you with despise
for the parts of you in question;
parts you mask with wretched lies?
I am earth and sky and starlight,
every part of me, divine;
butch jawline, my swish, and soft wrist,
every part of me is mine.
My too-muchness, does it scare you?
Are you shocked I don’t abide?
Did you think I’d think too little
of myself to look inside?
Inside me, I found what’s precious,
something I had wished would die
as I watched them kill my qindred,
brimmed with tears I dared not cry.
Now my confidence offends you,
because I don’t hide myself?
Does your mouth froth at my courage
because you don’t love yourself?
You can re-disguise your loathing,
call it morals, culture, creed—
But your hurting me won’t save you
even if you make me bleed.
If my faggotry is evil
and against your God’s accord
Why am I so fuckin’ brilliant,
full of cause to praise the Lord?
Full of miracles and wonder
and the mandate to exist;
even when home is denied me,
against all odds I persist.
If your freedom were a question,
asked and answered, and yet still
your whole life were lived in fear of
what could steal it away still
would you join my loud resistance,
raise a glass in awe that I
choose to hail this frail existence?
Say with pride: No, I won’t die!
Nana T. Baffour-Awuah (he/him) is a Ghanaian writer and editor currently based in New York. His poems, short stories, and essays have been published in Brittle Paper, Chronogram, Wildscape, Raven Review, African Writer, HuffPost, and elsewhere. His work has also been anthologized in Roots and Ruins (Arcana Poetry Press, 2025), Plant People, Vol. 5 (Plants & Poetry, 2025), Smitten with the Written (Arcana Poetry Press, 2026), and Creative Stillness (Gatekeeper Press, 2026). Nana is a poetry editor for The Hummingbird and a reader for Callaloo. He is working on his first book. IG: @whatnanawrote