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National Poetry Month's Feature: Poet Virginia Davis

Poet’s Bio:  Virginia Davis is a mother, poet, middle school English teacher, blogger, coffee lover, and author of four titles. She has been writing since the ninth grade, when she started using poetry and journaling as positive outlets while coping with the heavy emotions that came with the death of her oldest brother and not feeling accepted by her peers. Since then, writing has been her saving grace and has served as her one safe space where she feels free to truly be her most authentic self.  

She has self-published all of her books; her most recent title is a poetry compilation entitled The Mending, and it chronicles her poignant and victorious journey from heartache to healing. It is a poetic depiction of her choosing to take her broken pieces and transform them into something beautiful--art, and its most glorious form. Her first young adult novel will be released in the summer of 2020 and she is working on part two of The Mending. 

Virginia has a BA in English from Morgan State University, and is currently finishing her Masters of Education at Liberty University. She endeavors to continue making a difference in this world through her words and by continuing to enrich young minds and laying a strong foundation for our youth to make a difference as well. 

DL: What are some of your reflections during the COVID-19 pandemic?
VD: It has been quite a traumatic and heavy experience for me, my family, and for my students. I'm still trying to process this strange predicament the world is in.

DL: In celebration of National Poetry Month (April), can you share with us a few of your poems?
VD: Yes, I would like to share these two poems:

Covid Writer’s Block
It is about
day number 35 of being the house
Denied the right to step outside just for some fresh air because literally life or death is the choice
I deem it is safe to say that I am traumatized to the point that I have lost my voice
Blindly staring at blank pages that are begging to be filled
Tightly holding my favorite purple pen that’s craving to bleed
The contents of my damaged heart in between black lines
But still
I cannot find
my voice.
I closed my eyes 
and prayed to the poetry Gods
And implored them to have mercy on me
Burned blue sage and vanilla-scented incense
But it still don’t make no sense
That my aching soul is void of creativity
And I don’t see
A plot
A rhyme scheme
A clever hook
Riveting word choice
Maybe the truth is this Rona got me shook
And I must have misplaced 
My words somewhere in between
“All MD Public Schools are Closed” and “Your aunt has been diagnosed with Covid-19.”
Or maybe I went mute around day fourteen
of being indefinitely quarantined
Confined to these bare white walls
And subjected to these daunting emotions and gut-wrenching thoughts
That I can usually effectively elude
Go to work
Take baby to the library
Go to church
Go to school 
But now I have to stay still 
and face me and I’m utterly confused 
Because every time I turn on the news
I am reminded that life as I know it has been “temporarily” but permanently uprooted
I mean
I cannot find my words
And I can’t find some Lysol to kill these germs
That just might kill me
You see
I need to write
To feel safe
To feel like me
To want to fight for my own life
But I can’t even pinpoint where to buy some disinfectant wipes.
But how do you even sustain a poetic flow in a damn global pandemic?
When the reckless toxicity of its effects is tremendously relentless
And you don’t even know how to successfully stay alive in it
You don’t even know IF you’ll stay alive in it.
So how the hell do I expect myself to write in it?

Happiness (From The Mending)
I fell in love with the idea that I could be happy. One day. Somehow.
So I search deeply for happiness. 
I dig beneath the surface of my pain
Hoping to find some increments of it.
I scrape under my broken heart
Praying to discover some happy in between the pieces.
I lick the sourness of my tears
Thinking I’ll get a taste of it briefly
I write sloppily in between black lines
Believing my words will bleed it through the sadness of my pen.
I dance wildly at parties
Thinking if I fake it, it will appear, like magic.
I drink glasses of wine at a time,
Hoping I’ll get drunk enough to imagine it. 

DL: Where can folks learn more about you and your poetry?
VD: They can get more information about me and my work here:

DL: It’s been a pleasure having you here with us today. I know my readers will enjoy your poetry.
VD: Thanks for the opportunity to share my poetry! 


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