ShaWanna Renee Rivon
a biographical poem by Aris Kian, Houston Poet Laureate
In this city, we do not mistake spotlights
for sunrise, but we do know who shines
our light back on us even when night falls.
Destined for all sides of the stage,
this homegrown gardener took to watering
the seeds Houston planted, and she penned
them into recollections we applaud
long after the curtains close. Before this calling,
she was drawn to the stories movement made--
a young girl, twirling like tomorrows
are abundant under the heat of the Northside
sun, her neighborhood’s rhythm still humming
like a bass drum in the backdrop
of her memory. If Homestead were to tell it,
she’d be an H-town gal from ‘round the way,
country drawl still caught in her teeth
like the first bite of melon in summer’s
afternoon. But she carries NOLA,
Mississippi, and Texarkana like an heirloom,
never losing sight of those who came before.
Heartbeat of Doris Jean, she learned
where a prayer and a pen were gathered,
God’s presence would make itself plain.
She tells the good news of our history
with all the backbone and cackle
of the women she’s blessed to know.
Stories so packed with Black love
​
and Black power, who’d dare
question their holy? Who could see
the bluebonnet without noticing
the beauty that our past has blossomed?
From the page to the stage, she’s turned
Houston into a beacon of brilliance,
each play, a reminder of the rich life
we’d long known but hadn’t yet shared
with such a tender hand.
Holding the grief of segregation,
and the resistance of revolutionaries,
these shows don’t simply retell
these tales, but teach us who we’ve been
and who we, still, can be, that dream
of possibilities beyond what we can see.
Rain-kissed and honey-smoked,
Houston is no stranger to being loved
out loud. Her work is a mouthpiece
for the legacy we pray stays afloat
when storms are hell-bent on coming full force.
But a community cannot be washed away.
And if we’ve done it once, we can
do it again, seven times over. The cycle
as sure as our love for the city.
When you’ve birthed a blessed child
better than any dream, then blooming stories
from seed are practice for world building,
for creating a city where love
rushes like a flood, where every
Black girl is certain she is home.