StoryCorps Detroit Podcast: Poetry and Parenting

Detroit-based poet jessica Care moore [who spells her name with only one capital letter] first gained national attention for her poetry performances when she won five weeks in a row on “Showtime at the Apollo.” Today she wears many hats.

She publishes poetry with Moore Black Press. She’s responsible for the Black Women Rock events that showcase brown female musicians and poets. She’s released an album featuring poetry and music on Talib Kweli’s label. And she even has a quote on the QLine: “Detroit is the starting line of the world’s imagination.”

With the StoryCorps MobileBooth at the Detroit Institute of Arts until July 28, moore was invited to sit down for an interview with her son, King Thomas Moore. The 10-year-old, a poet in his own right, has already opened up for Dave Chappelle and performed in Shanghai. He’s also received a Knight Art Challenge award to host a series of Super Cool Poetry open mic events for kids 12 and under.

This excerpt from their interview is an intimate look at their relationship. They discuss hardship, love, growing up, and they also talk a little bit about poetry.

Click on the player at the top of this page to hear the StoryCorps Detroit podcast episode featuring their interview. You can also subscribe wherever you get your podcasts.

Scroll down to read a poem called “I’m what’s next” written by King as well as “The 1979 Bat mobile” written by his mother. A clip of moore explaining the story behind her poem is included at the bottom of this post.

StoryCorps

Poets, King Thomas Moore and his mother, jessica Care moore, interviewed each other for StoryCorps.

 

I’m what’s next
By King Thomas Moore

I’m made of cotton
I’m made of freedom
I’m  made of Mlk and his dream of peace
I’m made of Malcolm and his fiery heart
I’m made of Harriet and her railroad from pain to freedom
I’m made of the UAW and workers rights
I’m made of sunlight
I’m made of stained glass
I’m made of glory
I’m made of resistance
And that feeling that made Rosa Parks
Sit in the front of the bus
walk in the footsteps of Joann Watson and the resilient
Words of Reverend Anthony
I’m made of the blues and rock and roll

I’m young gifted and black like Aretha Franklin

  I’m a King, birthed from the Queen of Poems

My mom

I’m a child from Detroit

And I’m what’s next!

 

 

The 1979 Bat mobile
By jessica Care moore  

I was too busy worshipping my daddy

To take in every tear you swallowed.

I didn’t fully process your long wait

At the bus stop in front of Michigan Bell Phone Company.

You, armed with your 13th grade Canadian Diploma 

and  four children to consider.

 You weren’t English or Canadian

Anymore. 

You were a Detroiter.

A British born woman who could cook 

my dear hunting daddy’s deer and

A pot of collard greens like a southern

raised black woman.

 It’s 11:05 and we are up late in the middle 

Of summer negotiating who will sit in

the front seat of the Cadillac.

I usually win. My little/taller sister would

kick the back of the passenger seat and

complain for the first few minutes of

our ride.

 

We were late this night.  We usually came early.

Sat at The Tigers Restaurant

downtown across from your job.

 

The house phone rang hard on 8059 Ward. Your

voice steady. A calm that made my daddy nervous.

That feminine silence that brews afternoon tea and cooks

Slow and purposeful meals. 

 

Pressure cooker silence. 

 

Your patient purse snatched off your arm.

Your stockings torn.

Knees scratched and cut from being pulled down. .

 ”She’s okay.”

My daddy said calmly as we flew up Michigan

Avenue. Past my future house

across from the old Tigers Stadium 

This purse snatching became my mother’s liberation

 I don’t think I noticed much about my mother 

while my daddy was alive. At 10, I didn’t know that it was strange that she didn’t  drive.

When my daddy’s convertibles came in colors.

 

A week later the shiny bat mobile quietly and courageously

Rolled into our driveway my daddy laid with his own cement trucks. 

We, my brothers, and my younger sister who to this day

doesn’t remember any of this…

Because some memories stay  missing when you lose them

& sometimes they come back when you don’t want them in anymore. 

We were afraid.

Filled up with excitement

She was planning it in secret

Applying for the drivers license

Talking to my lanky yellow brothers finally 

Standing up to our disciplinarian daddy

Who they loved and feared.

 

The black Oldsmobile we called The Batmobile

Was a future get-a-way car

 Allowing my mother to simply drive

Herself home from work

 And one day

far, far away

from my daddy.

 

During their StoryCorps interview King asked his mother what the above poem is about. Click here to listen to her response.

 

Image credit: StoryCorps/WDET

This post is a part of Detroit Journalism Cooperative.

The DJC is a partnership of six media outlets focused on telling critical stories of Detroit and creating engagement opportunities on-air, online and in the community. View the partners work at detroitjournalism.org.

Support for this project comes from the Corporation for Public Broadcasting, the John S. and James L. Knight Foundation, Renaissance Journalism’s Michigan Reporting Initiative and the Ford Foundation.

  

 

This post is a part of StoryCorps Detroit.

Giving people of all backgrounds the opportunity to record meaningful conversations, StoryCorps seeks to preserve and share humanity’s stories in order to build connections between people and create a more just and compassionate world.​ The StoryCorps Mobile Tour stops in Detroit from June 29 to July 30 to collect the stories of our region.


 

 

About the Author

Laura Herberg

Community Reporter

Covers stories about the people inhabiting the metro Detroit region, the issues that affect them, as well as classic public radio “fluff.”

Follow @DetroitLaura

Sascha Raiyn

Reporter & Producer

Native Detroiter who grew up listening to news and music programming on Detroit Public Radio.

sraiyn@wdet.org   Follow @sraiyn

We want to hear from you.
Share your thoughts and opinions: