Ama Codjoe

Jan 30, 2025 | poetryfoundation.org | Ama Codjoe

Poem After Betye Saar’s The Liberation of Aunt Jemima

Oct 2, 2024 | yalereview.org | Ama Codjoe

describe one formal realization or change you made during the writing of this poem. I wanted to write a poem to explore the ways the past has shaped me and the ways I can—and can’t—shape the future. I continue to wonder at the tension between agency and powerlessness in my life: the poem gave me the opportunity to describe the vitality, resourcefulness, and usefulness of that wondering.

Feb 4, 2024 | newsbreak.com | Ama Codjoe

In Kadıköy market, their money already mingled, someone fished for coins and handed a small few to the grocer; the other inspected the apricots and kept the one less beautiful. Each revealed, at their fingertips, a pink moon. The firmament tasted like an insatiable kiss. They held each other’s hands— dirty from money, sticky with juice.

Nov 22, 2023 | poetryfoundation.org | Ama Codjoe

Humans and androids, sons of Wheatley and daughters of Jupiter, I am the nobody that knows trouble seen. Some may call this blasphemy. I believe all joy comes from a sorrow passed down like a chainless pocket watch. There’s a variety of figs that grows along the vines of countless public walls. Lush and purple, the figs appear delectable. They are hard to break apart. They are plentiful and inedible. The old man treading water in a cold sea adds to this tale of sorrow.

Aug 7, 2023 | aprweb.org | Ama Codjoe

IThe teenaged girl is searching for a placethat goes through, the holeto put the tampon inside. When she finds itshe asks her mother, Is this where the penis would go? Yes, her mother explains. Then I will never have sex. IISweltering New York City. She wears a red dress with a silver necklace, bangle, and earrings. A college friend she’s known for years says, “I don’t think I’ve ever seen your body.” He’s right.