Poems by Ada Limón

Sarah Goldberg

Ada Limón is a Latina poet whose work explores the relationship between identity and resilience in our lives. Born in Sonoma, California, Limón often draws on her Mexican-American heritage and personal experiences to create intimate poetry that feels relatable to read. Her ability to balance vulnerability with strength has made her an important voice in contemporary poetry. Limón’s words don’t shy away from the hard truths of living. They’re honest and demonstrate a kind of clarity that feels refreshing in this world that often prefers to avoid discomfort. Her poetry shows a deep awareness of what it means to live through pain while still finding beauty in unexpected moments. In her poems “The Leash,” “The Carrying,” “Dead Stars,” and “The New World of Beauty,” Ada Limón redefines survival and beauty by showing how they coexist with hardship. Through the lens of Audre Lorde’s “Poetry Is Not a Luxury,” June Jordan’s “The Difficult Miracle of Black Poetry in America,” Brenda Hillman’s “Cracks in the Oracle Bone,” and DonLimón’s work challenges readers to keep moving forward by embracing vulnerability and to seek meaning even in moments that feel uncertain.

Ada Limón’s “The Leash” reflects on the small ways we can continue to move forward despite the chaos in our world. The poem opens with intense imagery: “the spray of bullets into a crowd holding hands” and “the hidden nowhere river… poisoned orange and acidic by a coal mine.” These lines set a frightening tone that demonstrates human violence and the environmental harm caused in the world. In contrast to the start of this poem, the speaker says: “Reader, I want to say: Don’t die.” This moment feels deeply personal. I don’t perceive it as a sense of false hope — it seems like acknowledgment of the struggle to keep going which is a difficult reminder to hold onto. The metaphor of the dog running toward speeding trucks is reflective of the self-destructive tendencies that people commonly possess. Limón writes, “because she thinks she loves them, because she’s sure, without a doubt, that the loud roaring things will love her back.” This moment shows the way people often run toward what harms them due to hope for the situation to improve or have desire for connection. The act of pulling the dog back by the leash is an act of care which keeps the dog safe. The leash itself acts as the fragile connection that ties us to life when danger feels inevitable.

Audre Lorde’s “Poetry Is Not a Luxury” helps explain the purpose of Ada Limón’s “The Leash.” Lorde writes, “Poetry forms the quality of the light within which we predicate our hopes and dreams toward survival and change.” In other words, poetry helps us name difficult emotions and imagine ways to keep going. Limón captures this in “The Leash” with the line, “Reader, I want to say: Don’t die.” It’s a plea that puts into words the feeling of holding on when it’s hard to. Lorde says poetry brings hidden emotions into the open, and that’s exactly what Limón does. The ending of the poem: “Perhaps we are always hurtling our body towards the thing that will obliterate us… and so maybe… we can walk together peacefully, at least until the next truck comes” ties to Lorde’s idea that survival isn’t about solving everything. Instead, it’s about finding strength in small moments of connection. Limón shows this in the act of pulling the dog back by the leash which seems like a simple gesture that symbolizes the fragile effort to stay alive. Lorde also writes, “Poetry is the way we help give name to the nameless so it can be thought.” Limón’s poem does this by showing how even small efforts can make survival meaningful. She uses imagery like violence and saving the dog to see our painful experiences into something worth holding onto. At the same time, it’s hard not to wonder if survival feels easier to talk about after the hardest moments are over. Lorde acknowledges this struggle, saying, “Possibility is neither forever nor instant. It is also not easy to sustain belief in its efficacy.” Limón reflects this with, “The truth is: I don’t know.” This admission makes her words to “Don’t die” even more powerful. Both Lorde and Limón remind us that survival isn’t about fixing everything or having perfect solutions. It’s about finding meaning in the small acts of connection that keep us moving forward. Lorde writes, “Poetry is not only dream or vision, it is the skeleton architecture of our lives.” Limón’s “The Leash” gives us that notion by showing that even in our weakest moments, continuing to hold on is its own kind of strength.

Ada Limón’s “The Carrying” reflects on the burdens we take on, both physical and emotional, and how they give meaning to our lives. The poem opens with a striking image: “The sky’s white with November’s teeth, and the air is ash and woodsmoke.” Right away, there’s a somber tone that draws us into a moment of reflection. The speaker steps back, describing herself as “not large from this distance, just a fence post, a hedge of holly.” This line makes her feel small but also connected, like she’s part of the natural world she’s observing. The focus then shifts to her mare, “her belly barrel-round with foal, or idea of foal.” The mare becomes a symbol of carrying life. The speaker compares this to her own body, describing herself as “empty, clean of secrets.” Instead of seeing this emptiness as a loss, she finds purpose in it by saying, “How my own body, empty, clean of secrets, knows how to carry her.” This line shifts the focus from emptiness to the quiet strength it can hold when used to support others. The image of the mare leaning against the fence adds to the idea that even when carrying life feels uncertain, there is meaning in the act itself. Limón’s poem shows that what we carry — whether it’s physical weight or emotional struggles — connects us to something larger and gives us a sense of purpose.

On a similar note, Brenda Hillman’s “Cracks in the Oracle Bone” argues that poetry reveals strength in what is broken, writing, “To look at what is cracked or broken, to allow the breakage to show us new ways of being.” Ada Limón’s “The Carrying” echoes this idea, finding quiet strength in life’s burdens and moments of endurance. The mare, “her belly barrel-round with foal,” leaning against the black fence becomes a striking metaphor for resilience. It reminds us that carrying, whether it’s life or loss, is an act of survival. The poem ends with the line, “…knows we were all meant for something.” It doesn’t try to define what that “something” is, but it doesn’t need to. The line feels open-ended to see as a reader. It makes me wonder if it’s like an open invitation to keep searching for meaning. Hillman’s belief that poetry lives in complex moments is quite similar to Limón’s approach as well. There’s no easy solution, but that’s not the point. The meaning is in the persistence of moving forward even when the way ahead feels unclear. Limón’s “The Carrying” reminds us that life’s heaviest burdens often hold its greatest meaning. It’s important to embrace the weight and trust that in the act of carrying ourselves. The poem leaves us with the sense that there’s beauty in simply continuing in the most difficult periods we’ll experience.

Ada Limón’s “Dead Stars” is about how we’re tied to each other, the world around us, and the universe itself. The poem begins with the trees “bowing” under the weight of winter. Limón then shifts to the speaker’s own state, describing herself as “a hearth of spiders these days: a nest of trying.” That line stuck with me because it feels so real — the constant effort to hold everything together even when you feel like you’re barely managing. From there, the poem moves into an ordinary moment of taking out the trash and pointing out the stars. The line, “we should really learn some new constellations,” feels almost like small talk, but it's really about how we cling to what we know, even when there’s so much more out there. It made me think about how often I stick to the familiar instead of exploring new ideas or pushing myself further. Then comes the line that hit me deeply: “But mostly we’re forgetting we’re dead stars too.” On one hand, it’s about our connection to the universe since we’re literally made of the same elements as stars. On the other hand, it’s a reminder of our mortality and how easy it is to forget our place in something larger. The speaker talks about wanting to reclaim “the rising,” which feels like an urge to reconnect with the potential we all have but often ignore. Afterwards the speaker says, “We’ve come this far, survived this much. What would happen if we decided to survive more? To love harder?” That question felt personal to me. It’s so easy to just get through the day and settle for existing, but Limón asks us to push beyond that by choosing more, loving deeper, and care about what matters to us. The poem ends with a challenge: “What would happen if we used our bodies to bargain for the safety of others, for earth?” It’s a call to action to ask the audience to stop being afraid and to stand up for something bigger than ourselves. Even the smallest actions like taking out the trash can be meaningful if we’re paying attention.

June Jordan’s essay “The Difficult Miracle of Black Poetry in America” connects to this idea. Jordan writes, “Poetry is a political act because it involves telling the truth.” Limón tells a truth we often avoid: “What would happen if we decided to survive more? To love harder?” Similar to Limon’s poem, this is a challenge to stop settling for just existing and instead look for meaning through other parts of our lives, specifically through finding connection. The poem closes with an urgent question: “What would happen if we used our bodies to bargain for the safety of others, for earth?” Limón challenges us to care more deeply about each other and the world around us. “Dead Stars” is a reminder that survival alone isn’t enough. It calls us to acknowledge our place in something larger and to take responsibility for it. For me, “Dead Stars” is a reminder that survival isn’t enough. Limón asks us to think about what it means to deeply care for the world we’re part of. It’s a powerful way to stop settling for the bare minimum and rise to something greater. The poem feels like it’s asking, “What more could you be doing?” which is a question I sit with often.

Ada Limón’s “The New World of Beauty” challenges traditional ideas of beauty by presenting the caged lion as both a victim of its circumstances and a symbol of resilience. The image of the lion, with “his heart… already prepared for dust,” forces readers to confront the tension between survival and feeling confined. Limón suggests us to “say something pretty about it,” asking whether we can find beauty in moments of despair. The line “Will you know it, Gringo?” makes this challenge personal by calling out the limitations of conventional perspectives on beauty and survival.

Through the lens of Don Mee Choi’s An Anxiety of Words, Limón’s poem gains additional layers of meaning. Choi discusses how women’s poetry, particularly in oppressive contexts, “resists conventional forms of language” to defy systems of power. Like the feminist Korean poets Choi highlights, Limón resists traditional aesthetic values likely expected of her. The lion’s entrapment and the narrator’s direct confrontation of the reader mirror the ways Korean women poets used surreal and unconventional imagery to express resistance under patriarchy and inequality in general. Choi writes about the “conversational device” used by poets like Kim Hyesoon, in which multiple voices within the self are allowed to emerge. Similarly, Limón’s poem engages the reader directly by pulling them into a conversation that is messy, uncomfortable, and ultimately revealing. By pairing Limón’s poem with Choi’s insights, “The New World of Beauty” can be seen as part of a larger feminist tradition that uses poetry to redefine what it means to find beauty in resilience. Like Choi’s observation of Korean feminist poets, Limón’s work challenges readers to look beyond surface-level ideals and confront the complexities of survival, even when it is accompanied by pain.

Ada Limón’s poetry reminds me that it’s okay not to have everything figured out and that resilience is about choosing to keep going rather than avoiding hardships in life. She doesn’t offer easy solutions to this notion, but she gives us the language to process the unspoken parts of life and relate to her vulnerability which may be enough for readers to take action with Limón’s suggested ideas. Her work is a reminder that even in the darkest moments, there is beauty to be found if we’re willing to be open to it. Personally, it has been a healing experience to analyze Ada Limón’s poetry during a difficult time in my life. I’ve had to confront whether there is a purpose to keep moving forward, but reading Limón’s thoughts on the importance of resilience and embracing the inevitable challenges we’ll face brings me hope for the future. For me, her poems have become a space to reflect on my struggles and find strength by internalizing that meaning can be found during uncertain times in our lives.

Works Cited

Choi, Don Mee. “An Anxiety of Words.” Poets & Writers, vol. 34, no. 4, July/August 2006.

Hillman, Brenda. “Cracks in the Oracle Bone: Teaching Certain Contemporary Poems.” Poets.org, Academy of American Poets. https://poets.org/text/cracks-oracle-bone-teaching-certain-contemporary-poems

Jordan, June. “The Difficult Miracle of Black Poetry in America.” Technical Difficulties: African-American Notes on the State of the Union, Pantheon Books, 1992.

Limón, Ada. The Carrying. Milkweed Editions, 2018.
—. “Dead Stars.” Poetry Foundation.
—. “The Leash.” Poetry Foundation.
—. “The New World of Beauty.” Poetry Foundation.
—. “The Carrying.” Poetry Foundation.

Lorde, Audre. “Poetry Is Not a Luxury.” Sister Outsider: Essays and Speeches, Crossing Press, 1985.