and the things he’s done that have hurt us, he doesn’t leave.
He listens.
One day, as we’re all leaving Father Sean turns to me
and I brace myself, afraid he is going to ask about confirmation,
and that’s still a can of worms I ain’t fishing with,
but instead he says:
“Xavier told us you’re performing in a poetry competition.
Your very own boxing ring, eh?
I assume we’re all invited?”
Slam Prep
Ms. Galiano wouldn’t let me back out.
Even with everything going on,
she said I needed to give it a chance.
So, I practiced in front of my mirror
and at poetry club.
Although I lost so many poems,
and I feel a pang every time I think about them burning,
I’m also so proud of all I remember.
I’m trying to convince myself rewriting means
the words really mattered in the first place.
I need one really strong poem and although I hate
the idea of being judged and scored . . .
I love the idea of people listening.
(And, of course, winning.)
But, the thing is, all my poems are personal.
Some of the other slammers,
I know they write about politics and school.
But my poems? They’re about me.
About Twin and Papi, about Aman.
About Mami.
How can I say things like that in front of strangers?
In house stays in house, right?
“Wrong,” Ms. Galiano tells me.
She tells me words give people permission
to be their fullest self. And aren’t these the poems
I’ve most needed to hear?
Ms. Galiano Explains the Five Rules of Slam:
1. All poems must be under three minutes
2. All work must be the poet’s original work
3. You are not allowed to use props or costumes
4. You are not allowed to perform with someone onstage
5. You are not allowed to use a musical instrument
Xiomara’s Secret Rules of Slam:
1. Do not faint onstage
2. Do not forget your poem onstage
3. Do not stumble over words or visibly mess up onstage
4. Do not give a disclaimer or introduction to your poem
5. Do not walk offstage without finishing the poem
The Poetry Club’s Real Rules of Slam:
1. Perform with heart
2. Remember why you wrote the poem
3. Go in with all your emotions
4. Tell the audience all of the things
5. Don’t suck
Friday, February 1
Poetic Justice
One week before the slam
Twin, Mami, and Papi sit on the couch.
I take a deep breath and try not to fidget.
I open my mouth
and silence.
I can’t do this. I can’t perform
in front of them.
The living room feels too small;
they’re too close to me.
The words shrivel up and hide under my tongue.
Twin gives me an encouraging nod,
but I can tell that even he’s nervous
about how my parents might react.
I close my eyes
and feel the first words of the poem
unwrinkle themselves,
expand in my mouth,
and I let them loose
and the other words just follow.
The room feels too small,
the eyes all on me,
and I take a step back
but continue staring at the wall,
at the family portrait
hanging over Papi’s head.
When I’m done Twin is smiling.
When I’m done Papi claps.
When I’m done Mami cocks her head
and says:
“Use your hand gestures a little less
and next time, en voz alta.
Speak up, Xiomara.”
Friday, February 8
The Afternoon of the Slam
Aman and I go to the smoke park.
I don’t tell him I’m nervous
but he still holds my hand in his,
slips an earbud into my ear,
and plays Nicki Minaj.
When the album is done,
I get up to leave
but he tugs my hand
and pulls me onto his lap.
“I’m going to crush you!”
He smiles at me.
“Never, X. I have a present for you.”
And I see his phone
has gone from
the iTunes app to the Notes app.
I’m stunned when he begins
reading a poem to me.
It’s short and not very good
but I still blink away tears.
Because after all the poems
I’ve written for him and others
this is the first poem ever written for me.
“I’ll never be as good of a poet as you, Poet X,
and I believe you’re strong enough
to defend yourself and me at the same time,
but I’ll always have your back,
and I’ll always protect your heart.”
And I’ve never heard something
more deserving of a perfect ten.
Friday, February 8
At the New York Citywide Slam
With Ms. Galiano’s assistance:
I let the poem rise from my heart,
With Twin helping me practice:
I hand it over like a present I’ve had gift wrapped,
With a brand-new notebook:
I perform like I deserve to be there;
With Aman’s (and J. Cole’s) inspiration:
I don’t see the standing ovation,
With YouTube and English class:
I don’t see Caridad and Isabelle cheering, or
With Caridad holding my hand:
Aman and Twin dapping each other up,
With Mami and Papi in the front row:
I don’t see Father Sean in his collar smiling,
With Father Sean in the audience:
I don’t see Papi telling people “Esa es mi hija.”
With Isabelle and the club cheering:
I look at Mami and I give her a nod:
I stand on a stage and say a poem.
There is power in the word.
Celebrate with Me
After the slam,
Mami and Papi
invite my friends over
and Ms. Galiano and Father Sean, too.
Mami makes rice and beans
and orders pizza,
a strange mix
but I don’t complain.
Mami and Papi
won’t call Aman
my boyfriend
but they let him sit on the couch.
At one point,
Isabelle starts playing
bachata on her phone
and pulls Caridad to dance with her.
Next to me,
I see Twin tap his feet
and pretend not to look at Stephan.
Aman starts Spotify DJing.
Ms. Galiano and Father Sean
begin a heated convo about Floyd Mayweather,
and then there’s a tap
on my shoulder
and I turn to see Papi,
holding his hand out to me,
reaching for my arm,
asking me to dance.
“I should have taught you
a long time ago.
Dancing is a good way
to tell someone you love them.”
I catch Mami’s eyes in the doorway
of the living room; she
smiles at me and says:
“Pa’lante, Xiomara.
Que para atrás ni para coger impulso.”
And she’s absolutely right,
there will be no more backward steps.
And so I smile at them both
and step forward.
Assignment 5—First and Final Draft
Xiomara Batista
Monday, March 4
Ms. Galiano
Explain Your Favorite Quote
“The unfolding of your words gives light;
it gives understanding to the simple.”—Psalm 119:130
I was raised in a home of prayers and silence and although Jesus preaches love, I didn’t always feel loved. The weird thing about the Bible is that almost everything in it is a metaphor. So it seems to me that when the Bible describes church as a place where two or more people discuss God, they don’t mean just the cathedral-like churches. I don’t know what, who, or where God is. But if everything is a metaphor, I think he or she is a comparison to us. I think we are all like or as God.
I think when we get together and talk about ourselves, about being human, about what hurts us, we’re also talking about God. So that’s also church, right? (I know this might seem blasphemous, but my priest tells me it’s OKAY to ask questions . . . even if they seem bizarre.) And so, I love this quote because even though it’s not about poetry, it IS about poetry. It’s about any of the words that bring us together and how we can form a home in them. I don’t know if I’ll ever be as religious as my mother, as devout as my brother and best friend. I only know that learning to believe in the power of my own words has been the most freeing experience of my life. It has brought me the most light. And isn’t that what a poem is? A lantern glowing in the dark.
Acknowledgments
Writing a book can be a lonely endeavor, but I am lucky that my tribe held me up and held me close as I attempted to figure out how to tell this story.
Ammi-Joan Paquette—you the realest agent. Thank you for cheerleading me from the sidelines. I am honored be a part of the EMLA family.
To my editor, the OG of kid lit, Rosemary Brosnan, and her wonderful assistant, Courtney Stevenson, thank you for making such a caring home for me and this book at HarperCollins. I’ll be forever grateful for the unwavering enthusiasm of my HarperCollins team, who made my manuscript pages into this gorgeous book.
Special thanks to the writing mentors and peers in my life who selflessly lifted the curtain into writing and told me, “Welcome, comadre.” Kayla Gatalica, Safia Elhillo, Yahaira Castro, Jason Reynolds, Ibi Zoboi, Laurie Halse Anderson, Daniel José Older, Hache Carrillo, Phil Bildner, and Kevin Lewis, thank you. Special thanks to Meg Medina for her supreme kindness and Justina Ireland for her thoughtful blurb.
I have been beyond blessed with the educators in my life. Two teachers especially stand out: Phil Bildner, I have to thank you again. You’ve been telling me my words mattered since I was twelve and you never failed to help me shine. This book would not exist without your encouragement. Abby Lublin, the Live Poets Society lives on, and now it lives here. Thank you for not letting a hardheaded fourteen-year-old back out of her first poetry slam. Isn’t it amazing what a gentle shove can do?
Salute to the Drawbridge Collective: no matter how nervous every new leap makes me, you remind me you’ll help me land on my feet. To the organization that got me involved in poetry slams as a teen, Urban Word NYC, thank you for never letting me believe any stage was too big. And special shout-out to Mahogany Browne at UW: you’ve continued to broaden what I imagine is possible within this work. To the Brotherhood/Sister Sol, you all were a home I needed at the time I needed it most. Lyrical Circle, thank you for the refuge you’ve offered for over fifteen years. The Live Poets Society of the Beacon School 2002–2006, wepa! To my former students at Buck Lodge Middle School, thank you for your patience with a new teacher and for inspiring me to write for you. And to the DC Youth Slam Teams 2013–2016: I was privileged to be your coach, and I hope this novel honors you.
To my homegirls: the Roomies, and the Love Jones Girls, and my Sigma Lambda Upsilon Hermanas (especially AG), you’ve heard me talk about this book for AGES but never played me like Stewie Griffin does Brian. Y’all the real MVPs.
To Carid Andrea Santos, thank you for letting me borrow your name. For reading the first rough, rough draft of this and urging me to tell the story of our home and family and childhood. For being my best best friend for the last twenty-five years. Most important, thank you for always knowing when I’m crying without my having to say a word . . . and for keeping me cute.
To my extended family, may we always celebrate together. Shout-out to my brothers, who helped me practice poems and let me keep the bedroom light on late at night to write. Thank you to my pops, who always dances with me at the Christmas party and keeps me laughing. And the absolute most special thanks to my first love, Mami, Rosa Acevedo, who took me to the library every week, taught me to read in a language she barely spoke, and showed up to every one of my poetry slams: you have prayed for every good thing that has ever happened to me and prayed yourself powerful in the face of every bad thing that has ever happened to you. Te quiero.
Beloved, Shakir Amman Cannon-Moye, I can’t recall a dream I’ve ever whispered that you didn’t believe I could manifest. Including this one. You’re a better partner than I could have ever imagined, a better man than I could ever hope to write.
I want to give thanks to all the loyal folks who have followed my poetry from the early days and have now followed me on this new journey. This is for us.
Ancestors: you crossed the harshest of waters / & waters & waters / & on the other side / still gasping / your breath / dreamt us / out of the tide / & we rise / because of / for you.
About the Author
Photo credit Stephanie Ifendu
ELIZABETH ACEVEDO is the youngest child and only daughter of Dominican immigrants. She holds a BA in performing arts from George Washington University and an MFA in creative writing from the University of Maryland. With more than fourteen years of performance poetry experience, Acevedo is a National Poetry Slam Champion, Cave Canem Fellow, CantoMundo Fellow, and participant in the Callaloo Creative Writing Workshop. The Poet X is her debut novel. She lives with her partner in Washington, DC. You can find out more about her at www.acevedowrites.com.
Discover great authors, exclusive offers, and more at hc.com.
Advance Praise for The Poet X
“A story that will slam the power of poetry and love back into your heart.”
—LAURIE HALSE ANDERSON,
author of National Book Award finalists Speak and Chains
“Elizabeth Acevedo crackles with energy and snaps with authenticity and voice. Every poem in this stunningly addictive and deliciously rhythmic verse novel begs to be read aloud. Xiomara is a protagonist who readers will cheer for at every turn. As X might say, Acevedo’s got bars. Don’t pass this one by.”
—JUSTINA IRELAND, author of Dread Nation
“I devoured this magnificent work of art. Elizabeth Acevedo gets everything right, bringing the magic of the verse novel to stunning new heights. A glorious achievement. This is a story about what it means to be a writer and how to survive when it feels like the whole world’s turned against you. Required reading for everybody alive today.”
—DANIEL JOSÉ OLDER,
author of the Shadowshaper Cypher series
“Though vivid with detail about family, love, and culture, The Poet X is more of an exploration of when the poet becomes the poem. Xiomara teeters between verbosity and restraint, shape and form, rewriting and sharing. Most important, the poet (and poem) searches for the freedom to stand on her own. Acevedo delivers an incredibly potent debut.”
—JASON REYNOLDS,
author of National Book Award finalist Ghost
“In The Poet X, Acevedo skillfully sculpts powerful, self-contained poems into a masterpiece of a story, and has amplified the voices of girls en el b
arrio who are equal parts goddess, saint, warrior, and hero.”
—IBI ZOBOI, author of American Street
Books by Elizabeth Acevedo
The Poet X
With the Fire on High
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Copyright
HarperTeen is an imprint of HarperCollins Publishers.
THE POET X. Copyright © 2018 by Elizabeth Acevedo. All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the nonexclusive, nontransferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse-engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins e-books.
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Cover art by Gabriel Moreno
Cover design by Erin Fitzsimmons
* * *
Library of Congress Control Number: 2017943585
Digital Edition MARCH 2018 ISBN: 978-0-06-266282-8
Print ISBN: 978-0-06-266280-4
* * *
1819202122PC/LSCH10987654321
FIRST EDITION
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