2011
The 2011 Poet Laureate is Rebecca Kelly. Her poem is titled "We Are."
Tap. Tap. Tapping foot.
with the snare drum snapping.
Team flags flapping.
marching in sync with the
Tap. Tap. Tap.
Tap. Tap. Tapping foot.
Waiting on the bench
for the coach to put me in the game.
Cheerleaders shout WE ARE
Tap. Tap.
DUNBAR.
Tapping turns into clapping.
and clapping to rapping
rhythms and equations that
calculators
can’t resolve.
Water can’t dissolve
the need to tap the mic.
tap the mat.
tap into reality,
because WE ARE
Tap. Tap.
DONE.
Legs won’t stop bouncing on the backs of the desk
racks.
I don’t know if it’s my energy or if it’s thanks to
my skinny venti double triple frappe white caramel
dulce macchiato
—hold the cream.
Tap. Tap. Tap.
I twitch as I tap, as I—
solve for x,
change kilos to pounds.
What is pi?
Pie is round.
Tap. Tapping foot.
Columbus sailed the ocean blue,
in something borrowed and something new?
Tap. Tapping foot.
Hola. Bonjour. Hallo.
Nosotros Somos…
Tap. Tap. Tap.
Cell buzzing in my pocket,
earbud bu-bu-buzzing in my brain.
I’ve gotta tune it all out,
tap it all out.
Tap. Tap. Tap.
Backpacks bustle,
keeping their eyes low.
“Excuse me, do you mind?”
She snaps.
Just another brick in my wall.
Tap. Tap. Tap.
You can try,
But you can’t stop the beat of my
tapping foot.
Tap the floor,
tile floor,
beating ‘til nothing sounds right unless it’s got a
little
Tap. Tap. Tap.
But in this moment,
our legs standstill.
Instead, we shout WE ARE
Clap. Clap.
DONE-BAR.
We may be done with Dunbar,
but we are not done tapping,
not done working and pushing ourselves.
We are not done tapping
because we are
Tap. Tap.
the movers,
And we are
Tap. Tap.
the shakers of this world.
We sit uniformly
adorned with the same tassel and similar smiles.
And we listen.
We listen for our chance
to tap
across the platform,
Receiving the deserved validation of our work.
We leave this room,
aware of the rhythms in this world
that are calling for a change,
calling for our
Tap.
Tap.
Tap.
-Becca Kelly