Tyehimba Jess

 
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What you know good?

 

it's true. I ain't no good. but i do know better, I know the Detroit  summer furnaced in fury, the Chitown winter hawk beat down – i know the Brooklyn born treetops in spring, their slow spun good of shadow i lean into, I know that ain't no good deed gone unbeloved by somebody got no sense. i got the good gospel of blues beneath my skin, and i know i got it good when i kneel before my baby's good thang, when i'm drowning in her silt salt goodness, greedy enough to squint, the good, hot air smothering our goddamns. i got it bad, about as good as it gone get till i'm good and gone, the good foot slide-steppin me  on out this plane. been told i ain't nobody's good man, cause i got a good mind to get good heavens with good weed that gets me golden smoky. What I know good? i know that you know that they know that we know that don’t nobody gots the goods (or warrants) on me... as good as I can tell. See, you got the good hand, baby. I just barely got me this good credit, just got this good job, I was tryin to get a good look outta this poem, tryin to keep it out the mouths of the good ol boys perched like Confederate statues on gilded plinths of God Bless Americas, I was tryin to keep head above Good Times, writhing the good fight, fried as good hair and twisted as good intentions. What I know good starts with a brick and ends with book and bleeds in between, it walks through the screen door of promise with chisel-sharp fine print tunneled deep in its smile. What I know good is like I said; I aint no good. But goodness, don’t I get a chance to make it all good, before the bullet gets out the gun or the knee hits the neck or the noose gets hung or the bail gets set? You know good and well what the answer is. what I know good  is what I left behind and, Good God, what never leaves me. History. what I know good will always be enough to bury me, but here I am, good enough, ain’t i?… to rise up and tell you all I know.  

 

 

 

 

Tyehimba Jess is a poet and author of two books, Leadbelly and Olio, the latter of which received the 2017 Pulitzer Prize for Poetry.