Friday Feature: Chennelle Channer
- Jae Nichelle
- 10 minutes ago
- 2 min read
Chennelle Channer is a Jamaican-born poet and writer. She immigrated to America in her early childhood and was raised between the restless hum of Brooklyn and the measured cadence of South Carolina. Her Caribbean roots shape the rhythm and voice of her storytelling and Jamaica remains the place where she feels most at home.
She earned her B.A. in English with a concentration in creative writing from SUNY Binghamton and is currently pursuing a Master of Arts in Liberal Studies at Dartmouth College. Her poetry explores immigration, language, womanhood, and Black familial structures, blending lyric intensity with narrative storytelling. Her work has appeared in Bloodroot Lit., Clamantis, and Frontier Poetry, where she was named a finalist in the 2024 Open Contest. Beyond the page, she finds inspiration in the subtle patterns of daily life. She enjoys slow mornings, often starting the day with a cup of tea in silence. She cherishes the quiet of the early morning, before the world fully wakes and the day feels unclaimed. Through her work, she hopes readers feel seen, recognized, understood, and valued.
GIRLHOOD IN AN AGE OF SUPERWOMEN
I think a backseat is necessary now.
I’m tired of holding my tongue like
chewing the words makes me any
less starved. I cried all last night
cuz they cut my lights. Tired,
I’ve been telling everyone I’m tired.
Easier than explaining how the scar
on my inner thigh is my testimony.
I think a quick death is necessary now.
I was warned once of the damage
a copper plated slug does. Nothing said
of all the ways a bible splits you open.
My body, like the inside of an aloe leaf
still tender from the lack of loving.
I wear my gold cross over my white tee
to remind helicopters to pass over.
I think a clean slate is necessary now.
I’ve got too many afflictions that intersect
like the Brooklyn streets that still haunt me.
I remember the first time I said it was the last
time I’d let a man hit me. Turned a corner
into newer, rougher hands. Swallowed whole all
the bottles in my bathroom cabinet and somehow
survived. I’ve been told that’s grace, I should be grateful.
But I’m still bitter, and steeping in it.
How can I be soft when I’m troubled and I don’t look like
anyone will remember the weight of my name.
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Torch Literary Arts is a 501(c)3 nonprofit established to publish and promote creative writing by Black women. We publish contemporary writing by experienced and emerging writers alike. Programs include the Wildfire Reading Series, writing workshops, and retreats.