Poetry

Sorrow Is Not My Name

—after Gwendolyn Brooks

Ross Gay

Artwork: “Make Me Happy” by Simona Vojtěšková © 2023

No matter the pull toward brink. No
matter the florid, deep sleep awaits.
There is a time for everything. Look,
just this morning a vulture
nodded his red, grizzled head at me,
and I looked at him, admiring
the sickle of his beak.
Then the wind kicked up, and,
after arranging that good suit of feathers
he up and took off.
Just like that. And to boot,
there are, on this planet alone, something like two
million naturally occurring sweet things,
some with names so generous as to kick
the steel from my knees: agave, persimmon,
stick ball, the purple okra I bought for two bucks
at the market. Think of that. The long night,
the skeleton in the mirror, the man behind me
on the bus taking notes, yeah, yeah.
But look; my niece is running through a field
calling my name. My neighbor sings like an angel
and at the end of my block is a basketball court.
I remember. My color’s green. I’m spring.

—for Walter Aikens

©2011 Ross Gay. Reprinted with permission from Bringing the Shovel Down (University of Pittsburgh Press, 2011).

Fall 2024

From the Editor

Suzanne Shanahan

Part I: Abundant Virtue

Patricia Snell Herzog

Interlude: Generous Eyes, Radical Love

Fr. Martin Lam Nguyen, CSC

Part II: Abundant Vocation

Good Agriculture

Jack Bell

Good Engineering

Joshua Brake

Good Medicine

Abraham Nussbaum

The Good Doctor

Sneha Mantri

Good Work

Christopher Wong Michaelson

MORE