Poetry (Resources) We Admire: Renee Good

In this Poetry We Admire column, we honor Renee Nicole Macklin Good—a mother of three, wife, and poet—who was fatally shot by a US Immigration and Customs Enforcement’s (ICE) agent in Minneapolis on the morning of January 7, 2026. As someone who grew up and currently lives in the Twin Cities, this tragedy hits home. I can only speak on what I observe, and what I am seeing is that there is not a single place in Minnesota—schools, libraries, local businesses, the street, the home—that isn’t affected by this and other recent events.

But these attacks against immigrant communities aren’t exclusive to Minnesota, nor solely contained in the United States. Xenophobia, racism, and bigotry are prevalent around the globe, and so our mission at Palette has always been to platform works that actively resist these notions. We believe in highlighting and protecting poems that share individuals’ perspectives in an openhearted way, poems that aim to bring people together, not those that “other” the neighbors we have not yet reached out to greet.

Below I have compiled some poems pertinent to this moment in time, along with resources and organizations in Minnesota that you can support. I encourage you, wherever you are in the world, to continue reading, writing, and sharing stories of what you witness. As poets, we owe it to future generations to record what’s happening around us with our poetic lens, to paint a fuller picture for the history books. As adults, we are responsible for setting a precedent for our young writers—who are growing up in a time of book bans, misinformation, and censorship—by showing that their voices and experiences matter and will be heard, and that truth and empathy will prevail.

— Elyssia & the Palette Poetry team

_____now i can’t believe—

_____that the bible and qur’an and bhagavad gita
are sliding long hairs behind my ear like mom used
to & exhaling from their mouths “make room for
wonder”—

from “On Learning to Dissect Fetal Pigs”

by Renee Nicole Macklin Good

Winner of the 2020 Academy of American Poets Prize, Renee Good’s poem creates an evocative image of physical items we are surrounded by and connects a philosophical thread between those objects and specific ideas they evoke. Sensory details, like “slick rubber smell of high gloss / biology textbook pictures,” heighten the intimacy of Good’s contemplation on what we hold onto in life, what we give away, and how we can find meaning in the simplest things.

Good will be remembered for many things, including her role as a mother, wife, and neighbor to all. Her poetry will be another we memorialize here.

Neighbor, you should be alive. Neighbor, you should have risen into another good morning with your wife. Neighbor, you should have made it home to your child, to the bright warmth of his laughter, but our country is at war with its people, and your goodness makes you an enemy, a citizen insurgent.

…

The role of us poets is to witness the world, to see with our eyes and souls the delicate threads of truth, past, and possibility around us. With attention as our tool and duty, we turn to grief, to love, to the natural world around us, to our own lives, and to our countries. Poets give what for some may be unutterable for others body, color, and sound. Hard to fool a poet; we see through everything.

from “An Elegy for My Neighbor, Renee Nicole Good”

by Danez Smith

While not necessarily a poem, this touching tribute by Minnesotan poet Danez Smith is raw and honest in feelings of hurt and outrage. Smith stresses the importance of poets to nourish the world through our eyes, calling for all of us to be witnesses in this fight for goodness and justice.

“You’re trying to start a war,” she said, “giving secrets
away to the Enemy. Why can’t you keep your big
mouth shut?”

I didn’t know what to say.
I gave her a packet of tomato seeds
and asked her to plant them for me, told her
when the first tomato ripened
she’d miss me.

from “In Response to Executive Order 9066:
All Americans of Japanese Descent Must
Report to Relocation Centers”

by Dwight Okita

This oft-reprinted poem, taught in schools across the states, is from Dwight Okita’s 1992 collection, Crossing with the Light (Tia Chucha Press). The narrator is a Japanese American girl in high school who has an argument with her best friend the day before departing for an internment camp. It is a tragic perspective, knowing the historical context. This child’s innocence and hope remind us to consider how young people today are affected by hardship. They are sometimes the ones viewing things with the most clarity.

I am a poet
who yearns to dance on rooftops,
to whisper delicate lines about joy
and the blessings of human understanding.
I try. I go to my land, my tower of words and
bolt the door, but the typewriter doesn’t fade out
the sounds of blasting and muffled outrage.
My own days bring me slaps on the face.
Every day I am deluged with reminders
that this is not
my land

and this is my land.

from “Poem for the Young White Man Who Asked
Me How I, an Intelligent, Well-Read Person,
Could Believe in the War Between Races”

by Lorna Dee Cervantes

Throughout this poem, Lorna Dee Cervantes employs tonal shifts to take readers on an emotional journey, from denying the accusation, to boldly defending the existence of war, before finally landing on the climatic stanza quoted above in which she expresses the desire shut it all out, the pain and outrage. But it is impossible to ignore. The repetition of “my land” emphasizes her stake in the conflict, and—if we were to claim likewise—ours too.

Look at our hands, they say. There is nothing to hide. But you look closer and see, in the photo, a shadow staining the ground, over sepia flowers, attached to no one. A hole in the dirt. And you wonder if it’s an entrance or maybe the mark of something higher, something already leaving, on wings.

from “The Punctum”

by Ocean Vuong

This is one of my favorite poems from Ocean Vuong’s second poetry collection, Time Is A Mother. The historical context in the poem’s headnote unveils the sinister edits and reframing used to conceal the tragic truth of past lynchings that took place in the photograph’s setting. The tone is oppressive and demanding, at times feeling as though “they” are physically turning your head away from what they don’t want you to see.

The ayeeyos and awoowes, I will give them people
to take care of them.
…
In my city I will welcome other people because
they need to know how my city is.

from “In My City”

by Amira O. (826 MSP)

Amira, an eighth grader at the time, wrote this poem for 826 MSP’s After-School Writing Lab and Young Authors’ Council fall 2022 chapbook, The Tree That We All Grow On. 826 MSP is a local branch of the national organization whose mission is to amplify the voices, stories, and power of K-12 BIPOC students through writing, publishing, and leadership programs. I previously interned at this nonprofit organization and can say the work they do empowers young writers and helps them grow in confidence as literary community members and advocates.

Other pertinent poems from Palette’s archive:

“How Can Brown People Write About Birds At a Time Like This” by Dorsía Smith Silva

“The Season of Smoke” by Nwodo Divine

“There’s a tenderness at the end of this poem” by Tajudeen Muadh

“anticipating flame” by Garnet Juniper Bennet

“Prayers of a Young Immigrant” by Zia Wang

“Stevie Wonder boulevard” by Tamar Ashdot

“Maria’s Jawbone” by Karla Yaritza Maravilla Zaragoza

“Partition Happened to Us Too” by ena ganguly

“Our Lady of the Scablands” by Linea Jantz

“The Peasantry” by Weijia Pan

“Prayer Circle” by Sa Whitley