In celebration of National Poetry Month, we’re shining a light on storyteller and poet extraordinaire, Mahogany Browne. Based in Brooklyn, NY, Browne is a writer, organizer, and educator who was selected as one of Kennedy Center’s Next 50. Browne also served as Lincoln Center’s first-ever poet-in-residence where she curated Woke Baby Book Fair, a family-friendly festival promoting diversity and justice-oriented narratives in children’s books. 

Browne’s recent works include “Vinyl Moon,” “Chlorine Sky,” “Woke: A Young Poet’s Call to Justice,” “Woke Baby,” and “Black Girl Magic.” Her latest project is a poetry collection responding to the impact of mass incarceration on women and children, entitled “I Remember Death By Its Proximity to What I Love,” published by Haymarket Books. She has received fellowships from Agnes Gund, Air Serenbe, Cave Canem, Poets House, and Mellon Research and Rauschenberg. Aside from dreaming up stories and making words harmonize, Browne serves as the Executive Director of JustMedia, a media literacy initiative supporting the groundwork of criminal justice leaders and community members. Nothing will stop Browne from using the power of her words to drive change. 

You can check out more of their work here. 

What is the first creative project you remember? 

I remember several attempts at honing my creativity. One was in fourth grade when I made my very first storybook. It had cardboard and beautiful wallpaper as the book cover with my wonderful etchings on the front. It was magic to hold, to sew those pieces of paper together, to create a world to hand over to friends and family for their approval or surprise. It was the awakening I needed as a burgeoning writer, even though it would take another 15 years to show up.

Describe your aesthetic in three words. 

Bad Ass Woman, Fly Black Woman, Black Girl Magic—all of these are in rotation until further notice.

What was the most fulfilling collaboration you’ve worked on?

There are so many moments of joy. I am lucky my poems get to live in the world in this way. I have written poems for so many amazing spaces, all of which felt like a workshop on encouraging my younger self to boldly speak up. So whether with a team of dancers for my ensemble production of Redbone, or beside a jazz singer and bassist for Celebrate Brooklyn, or matching the fierceness that is alice + olivia alongside Queen Ebony Williams, all of these writing collaborations feel vital to my reimagining. I once thought no one could care a thing about what I said, books or otherwise, and now I feel like I am speaking to my younger self. I’m just allowing the world a seat at the dinner table.

What’s one creative project that taught you something fundamental about yourself?

Performing alongside the New York Philharmonic Orchestra taught me that voice is a large part of art. And to use my writing as a bone in the body of fellowship is an extension of my ancestors—I write because they asked me to be introspective, and I perform because they remind me to speak for myself. I reckon this is only the beginning. I have so much more to say.

Do you think creativity is something you’re born with, or something you’re taught?

I think everyone is born with creativity. Not all of us have the aptitude to harness that energy into a tangible thing: a song, a poem, a painting, a dance. Some of us channel the creative flow into a pie chart or fundraising. Some of us have the capacity to ingest amazing art and correlate the vision into a framework for others to understand. Everyone loves a good story. Stories are our heirlooms for our children.

What’s the last dream you had?

Such a great question. I’ve had a doozy of dreams that woke me in a panic. I can’t remember exactly what was happening, except I was running. It could’ve been because I fall asleep with the news on sometimes. It’s a horrible habit. There is little peace there, lately. But if I may be sappy, my daughter is my dream. She is 24 now and really just bum-rushing the world with her songbird fashionista ways. It’s inspiring to look at her and see the most brilliant human I could ever imagine. She’s the girl I wish I had the bravery to be as a teen. And now she’s growing into such an amazing woman. I’m so happy I get to sit courtside and watch her work!

One hundred years from now, what do you hope people write about your work?

In 100 years? I hope they remember that my work fought for Black people to be honored and safe. I hope they remember I wrote and mentored and fought for Black, Brown, and marginalized women to feel beautiful and considered. I hope they remember I am always in the business of celebrating and supporting women who uplift other women; I am in the business of nuanced, messy, loving, and spicy stories from a woman’s perspective.

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