What God in the Kingdom of Bastards: Poems

by Brian Gyamfi

Overview

What God in the Kingdom of Bastards is a poetic exploration of grief, memory, Blackness, and the haunting legacy of familial trauma by way of colonialism, told through the lens of two brothers: Lot, the elder, who is flesh and alive, and Frank, the younger, a ghost navigating his post-suicide existence. Their relationship anchors the collection, weaving themes of love, loss, and the arduous reconciliation between the living and the dead. Combining vivid imagery with fragmented, conversational tones of prayers, laments, and whispered confessions that are surreal and lyrical, Gyamfi delves into the ways trauma—both personal and systemic—permeates family, faith, and identity.

Product Details

ISBN-13:	9780822967576
Publisher:	University of Pittsburgh Press
Publication date:	09/09/2025
Series:	Pitt Poetry Series
Pages:	104
Product dimensions:	6.00(w) x 8.00(h) x (d)

About the Author

Brian Gyamfi is the recipient of a Pushcart Prize, a National Endowment for the Arts Literature Fellowship, the Zell Fellowship, and two Hopwood Awards. His libretto The Ants Are Illuminated was commissioned by Overtone Industries for their Original Vision opera. A finalist for the Oxford Poetry Prize and the Poetry International Prize, his writing has appeared in Poetry, Narrative, Guernica, The Adroit Journal, and elsewhere. He serves as a contributing editor at Oxford Poetry. Gyamfi lives in Washington, DC.

Read an Excerpt

Excerpt. © Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved.
Excerpt from What God in the Kingdom of Bastards: Poems by Brian Gyamfi

REGARDING LITTLE FIRES

I stood in front of the church door waiting for the congregation to fly out like a swarm of bees.
I tell you I could understand the strange tongues of the Pentecostals.
Could translate the language of air as if the sun was the dimmest star below and the moon was not dead.
I’m told we’re beautiful things waiting to sink in an ocean of joyous blasphemy.
A little kerosene ready to burst into almighty light.
The church pamphlet instructs you to hum in our father’s voice.
You do not.
We live in a world of ordinance,
dangerous ordinance. So please hold onto my arm and I’ll open the doors to the synagogue,
lift the curtains to the temple,
climb to the top of the mosque.
And if I’m words, I’ll fill your speech with tongues,
deifying the insides of your mouth.
Now try speaking.
Hum a little. Let me out.
Do you see the centipedes living under the rug? Kneel to them.
Curse the ones lingering above the carpet. I promise on your head I’ll build a garland of rocks and trees.