A Million Tender Somethings
After “For My People” by Margaret Walker Alexander
For those whose blurting out to heaven never ceases,
the self-critics who blame themselves for every failure, for this biggest failure;
For the prodded and piped and pained who remain with-echo;
For those who bought themselves a coffee after the OBGYN,
after the fertility specialist, after the laying on of hands,
after the breaking of familial curses; after the confessions;
For those who were so afraid of being a mother they cried out
to the world they didn’t want children; for those who cried out
to God to take that back; who cried out to their husband
they were sorry, to their mother they were sorry, to their father,
to that turbulent wish, that impossible child, they were sorry;
For those who will never read Nancy Drew to a sleepyhead;
For those whose husbands will never teach sons; for those
who chose names they will never get to use; for those who write poems to
or in the voice of non-existent daughters, and for the one
who writes to Emma Jewel; for the ones whose poems
will be buried with them; for those whose houses will be cleaned
after their death by strangers; for the ones who play baby shower bingo
and wait till the ride home to break; for the birds in a tempest;
For those who feel lessened; who feel less than;
For the ones who don’t know how to forgive themselves;
For the ones still trying and the ones being prayed for
and the ones who have been prophesied over and the ones who once had
but lost and the ones whose husbands also blame themselves
and the ones whose husbands cannot accept it and the one whose husband
held her when the hemorrhagic cyst was so traumatic
the only solution was a hysterectomy, the total dissolution
of any hope.
For those who wake to grieving,
for those praying and questioning,
for those whose only voice is wailing,
for those who have nothing else to give,
for those who pace the floor,
for those who drop to their knees,
for those whose chances were stolen,
for those who waited too late to try,
for those who can praise through it,
for those who can’t:
May there one day be joy,
be a prickle of redbirds
be a charm of pillows
be a romp of gumballs
be a richness of plums
be a parliament of bells;
May there one day be rest,
be a bouquet of bees for honey
be a murmuration of gardens
be a library of bluebirds
be a plump of quilts;
May these women with so much want find an ease
in stirrings of berries
in orbits of peppers
in lozenges of sweetness
in fluffs of churned butter
in a million tender somethings that fill them with purpose.
**Poem originally published in Liberation As Poetic Form: a Poetry Zine From Mississippi as well as online in Rooted, as part of the workshop.
Prompt from C.T. Salazar’s workshop Liberation As Poetic Form: Read Margaret Walker Alexander’s poem “For My People.” Write a poem that’s one long sentence—in it, describe the many communities you belong to. Let the poem be a manifesto detailing the people you show up for; use the language your community knows.
This prompt was intimidating, to be honest. As an introvert, I was afraid I had no community whose language I shared. When I started writing about my inability to have a child, I knew I wasn’t the only one in my family who felt that profound grief, who felt helpless, who wanted so badly to leave something to the next generation, to have someone to teach all the things that are in our heads. I wanted the poem to be an anthem, really, for anyone who has walked through that kind of grieving.
What Inspires You
Like all poets, I absolutely love words. Sometimes, I will open several books at a time and look for new words to love, words I have never heard of, words I have to look up their meanings, or words I would not choose on my own; I write them all down and then try to create a poem using as many of those words as possible. I’m always surprised at the result. My favorite poets since I first picked up a pen have been Ted Kooser, Anne Sexton, and Sylvia Plath. I also firmly believe Donna Tartt’s The Secret History is as much poetry as it is novel. Who doesn’t love a good dark academia novel? More recently, my favorite books of poetry are Ada Limon’s Bright Dead Things, Melissa Ginsburg’s Doll Apollo, Brooke Matson’s In Accelerated Silence, and Samyak Shertok’s No Rhododendron. I also return often to Richard Cole’s Song of the Middle Manager because of how shockingly in love I fell with something I expected to be mundane (a book about business/corporate life). Additionally, I encourage anyone who comes across a workshop curated by C.T. Salazar to sign up. He is a fantastic writer, a fervent researcher, and he cares deeply about the writing community.
Bio
Poet Michelle McMillan-Holifield also pens short fiction, creative non-fiction, and occasional book reviews. She’s earned Best of the Net and multiple Pushcart Prize nominations and was a semi-finalist in The MacGuffin’s 29th Annual Poet Hunt. Most recently, her manuscript was longlisted for the Dzanc Poetry Prize and a finalist for the Wheelbarrow Books Poetry Prize. You can find her work in Bear Review, Nelle, Permafrost, Rust & Moth, Stirring, and Whale Road Review, among others. https://www.michellemcmillanholifield.com/
Find the Spring 2026 Issue HERE
Previous NPM 2026 poets
| April 1 | Amy Forstadt |
| April 2 | Annette Sisson |
| April 3 | Beth Kanell |
| April 4 | Bonnie Proudfoot |
| April 5 | Charles Stringer |
| April 6 | D. Dina Friedman |
| April 7 | David Colodney |
| April 8 | Deanna Ludwin |
| April 9 | Eileen Pettycrew |
| April 10 | Felice Alexandra |
| April 11 | Grace Massey |
| April 12 | Hallie Fogarty |
| April 13 | Isabel Cristina Legarda |
| April 14 | Jon Yungkans |
| April 15 | Kim Welliver |
| April 16 | Laura Foley |
| April 17 | Laurie Kuntz |
| April 18 | Marissa Glover |
| April 19 | Michelle McMillan-Holifield |