unnamed-e1519139193689.jpgA.R.T OF P.O.E.T.R.Y is a published space for Afro-Latinx based poets to share their artistry exploring culture, identity and the diaspora. 



Destiny Corporan

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The mothers of past lovers feared their sons would fall in love with a
negrita; too kinky and curly, lips so full,
full like a tender girls’ heart, ready and eager to love.
mami doesn’t know,
it’s not my job to:
hold on tight to her American Dream,
sit with my legs crossed
inhale the nicotine
crack a smile
fold veiny bruised hands as they fidget
bruised hands that fidget as they cook rice and beans
for 40-year-old babies whom need reminding of their macho greatness
as they beat us to it –
to death.
she’ll ruin future generations, mami says.
mami says.
Only because mami once said,
“They dug a hole in my chest.
Twisting my arms against my back.
Yelling and calling me negra.”
But let me tell you something mami,
I am Celia Cruz’s golden heart that’s bursting through the universe,
enlightening the souls that discredit my worth.
Being a negra was never a bad thing.
Because esta negra tiene tumbao!
©Destiny Corporan

They Call Us

Hudson Heights.
Call us
Bachata on a Thursday night,
Life of the party.
The cat in la bodega.
They like our prices but don’t support our business.
Investors buy us out from our own homes,
Laughing with a Starbucks grande in their hands,
Celebrating what they just sold,
60 years, 3 generations growing up in one home.
They stare like a deer in headlights when we show face past Harlem.
We drift to Florida or Pennsylvania
Tied down by their limitations
Because a few thousands are enough to keep us quiet.
Leave behind our community;
Las botànicas
$20 blow outs
Picnics in J. hood
Day trips to Fort Tryon
Shopping sprees on 181 street
Dollar avenas that have now gone up two quarters more
thanks to the Marshalls that’s right next door
Sweet beans,
Sweet dreams in this urban city.
Washington Heights is my home,
Just like Chicago or Boston may be yours.
Be gentle and caress this gem.
I the third generation, need the Height’s,
need my heritage to survive.
©Destiny Corporan


on the a train

I squeeze to sit in between
your white fingers ball into fists
freckles on your cheek
purple circles on my knuckles
you question my belonging
gawking at my existence,
a hybrid, yes, that’s me.
Do not touch my hair.
I speak Spanish.
I don’t know your Dominican friend.
freckles on your cheek
purple circles on my knuckles
Next stop 190th, all the gringo’s get off and you too hustle your way out
Looking back once.
Cold stone,
blue eyes are stone cold.
Why do they question me all the time?
Pitying me and my pride.
A rebel in disguise.
freckles on your cheek purple circles on my knuckles are just
freckles on your cheek and purple circles on my knuckles.
©Destiny Corporan

Artist Bio: Destiny Corporan is a writer, singer and actress. A recent graduate from Hunter College with a double concentration of Music and Acting. Her first chapbook “Blankita” shares the experience of a young Afro Latina born and raised in Washington Heights, New York City. A perspective of a personal journey that explores racism, sexual harassment, cultural identity, and love.