DIAMOND DUST
Poem from Mayor Kincannon's State of the City on April 25, 2025
Tell 'em...
that the first ground ball
was long before East Towne Mall’s downfall— Back when the dirt was still red with secrets and the pitch of every porch-swing sermon was aimed at the heavens.
Tell 'em our bases were loaded
with legacies,
from the Black bottom blues
to the Hill’s high harmonies,
every street was a lineup—
every grandmother a coach
teaching kids to keep their stance
even when the world threw heat.
See, this city—
Knoxville—
ain’t no minor league miracle.
It’s a stadium built on second chances,
where the people learned to slide through struggle with cleats full of gravel and gloves stitched from granddad’s prayers.
Tell ‘em Cal Johnson ran the bases
before the lights were even legal,
before Jackie cracked barriers—
we cracked concrete
just tryna stay equal.
Tell 'em about the curveballs:
urban renewal’s disguise,
the strikes they called
when we were still in our wind-up,
how they tried to call the game
before we had a chance to bat.
But we bunt-breathed survival,
stole bases in silence,
turned every alley
into outfield,
every stoop
into stadium seating,
where old heads called plays
while puffin’ on history
wrapped in Swisher Sweet wisdom.
And yeah,
they tried to bench us—
tried to box our brilliance
into press boxes
and zoning laws.
But we swung back
with the swagger of Sweetwater soul,
with the tempo of Magnolia Ave foot traffic, with the skyline watching like umpire gods callin' grace on every move we made.
Tell ‘em about the lights at World's Fair, the echoes in Market Square, how we turned foul lines into fashion statements and made every concession stand sell dreams in paper bags.
Tell ‘em the scoreboard never showed our wins but our walk-offs— our walk-offs be symphonies.
Our stories be bottom-of-the-ninth miracles in the mouths of poets and prophets and praise-hand grannies who hum swing rhythms while seasoning Sunday pots.
Tell ‘em this ain't just city pride—
it's sacred geometry.
Every roundabout
a circle of protection.
Every crack in the sidewalk
a lesson in resurrection.
Every youth center
a bullpen for hope.
And every baby born here
already got a glove in their soul.
Tell 'em...
we still field dreams
on asphalt diamonds,
still teach our young
to track fly balls of opportunity
through the thick smog of “you ain’t supposed to.”
Tell ‘em when they ask
how this place
kept scoring
after so many losses—
to point at the people.
The poets,
the peacemakers,
the protestors,
the pastors,
the parents
with patience made of pine tar and prayer.
And when tomorrow
steps up to the plate,
when it taps the dust off its cleats
and looks toward our dugout for direction—
Tell ‘em...
tell ‘em the first home run
was a poem.
NIKKI RECALLED
before you spoke
at our graduation
i recall a classmate saying
that the band's playing
"sound gooder denna mug"
how snug that cap was
how loose that tassel & gown,
recall baby blue birds
in red running brown
clouds of how drowning
in what nows
do we hold hands forever?
... 'til next semester?
can we swap clever anecdotes
with professors in knit sweaters?
may we do anything
but crack beneath the pressure
of pulling our lives together?
a notions nectar
a frozen measure
another "you'll NEVER be ANY better
than ______(fill in the blank)"
for it feels like we rank
years spent as felon
over years at Morehouse
or Spelman
and I'm telling you
i HAD Romello's walk DOWN
by senior year
but still dreamed
of being like Theo
like Dewayne-Wayne
in those fresh J's
and duo flip frames,
on a path to stake claim
to my own Whitley
who spoke talked
and walked like...Nikki?
nah nah nah naw
hell naw
I recall not REALLY
knowing who you was
remember
how momma's eyes
buzzed with excitement
at mention of thine name
recall teachers too tired
to express the same
but in you came
like something plain
like something
that hadn't shamelessly
tamed the ways of flame
to play casual on stage
as if your poetry
weren't ALL the rave
as if the auto-bio wasn't
critically acclaimed
as if Baldwin..
THE Baldwin James
hadn't put much respect
upon thy name
as you whispered reasons
through that eloquent exchange
why your blackman
should lie to you
as he hides his pain
I refrain
in recollection
of you telling us
that the BEST thing
that we could ever do
"is make sure
that you invest
in experiences...
for no one
will ever be able
to take that
from you"
as death
shall not take
the experience of you
from us
-- Joseph Woods, Dec. 10, 2025