Kirk Moya Jean-Baptiste
(This poem is grounded in my transfer experience from Queen’s University to Mount Allison University, and reflects feelings shared by many Black student-athletes)
I ran the lines, my chest a pounding drum,
A Black mind drawn toward the crowds’ loud cheers.
At Queen’s, the buildings loomed beyond my reach,
So many voices, yet I still felt so small.
The field was wide, the campus felt much more.
And in that space, the silence grew too loud.
I wore my strength like armor every day,
Yet cracks appeared where no one could see.
To ask for help felt like a lost game,
But helpful hands reached back when I spoke.
In quiet rooms, I learned to name the weight,
And breathe between the labels placed on me.
Still, something pulled me east, toward that place,
Where faces mirrored stories close to mine.
At Mount Allison, there I found my group,
Not just a team, but friends who understood.
Together we made room where none had been,
And built the Black Students Athletes’ safe space.
Now when I run, I do not run alone.
My stride is shaped by those who walked with me.