Sometimes your first drafts are meant to stay that way, but my zine days are coming back to me, and I feel like I am overflowing with words and feelings, that simply must scrape their way into the light. So even though a more poignant letter exists from the entire faculty of the College of Education in the Washington Post, here is my abbreviated version. I cannot work for EMU and not call out the ironic and oxymoronic nature of a college known for its Education programming partnering with an organization designed to demolish public schools as we know them. Hyperbolic as I may be, and as hard as teachers work in any school, EAA, charter, public or private... the graveness in my voice is real. I am worried that we are witnessing the beginning of the end for public education.
"So, what happens when the institution you work for contradicts with your politics and ethics about life? You feel the need to respond, as an educator, who is invested in reflective pedagogies of consciousness... to acknowledge and call out that a teaching college for undermining the very profession to which we're committed, to understand what motivates us to partner with the devil.
Detroit is under seizure... We are violently transforming public to private, for the gains of a small few, and I urge you to interrogate what our college gains from this partnership. Certainly the students we teach are not going to gain from the upheaval within our public education system, with every child being left behind, in the wake of testing the tests for the best test-takers. We have tested our brains to death.
I am an educator committed to servicing public school kids, because I firmly believe that every child has a right to a rigorous, quality education. Please join me in standing up for a public, collaborative solution to Detroit's failing schools and not selling our kids out to an emergency manager that wants to turn education into a business, our children into products. Please consider disconnecting from our partnership with EAA, siding with our teachers' unions and the understanding that public services should remain public, transparent and accountable to citizens."
Instead of sending this first draft outward into the world, I decided to let it breathe here... where only 3 people will ever see it. I have since contacted the faculty members who have contributed to this letter, in order to sign it myself, and will be attending the December 10th Regents meeting where this item is discussed with the university community. I hope I am like Grace Lee Boggs, and never grow out of being active.
Friday, November 15, 2013
Sunday, September 22, 2013
a new home for an old soul
i
have always fluctuated in the way that i approach new paths -- sometimes i am a
full-speed-ahead voyager, other times i proceed with caution. the path
that after-school paved is no different. i flung myself head-first into
this work, but find comfort in the familiar - writing lesson plans,
professional development, too many meetings to keep straight in my mental
calendar. there is the comfort of september and bulletin boards brazen with our
boasts.
i am comfortable knowing that my fight against
injustice takes place no matter where i am, and that finding peaceful solutions
to violence has become a daily way of life. I’ve learned so much in
returning to the place I grew up to work, breathe and be again. i do not always practice what i preach, but
in terms of the ways i connect with students, i try hard. one of the
things that students have said to me before is that they want to learn from me
because i tell them stories about myself, my life, who i am. i don't
know any other way to teach, than to talk about my experiences. if i
connect what we're learning to myself, there's a greater chance that my
students will try to connect it to themselves, as well.
with strong movement professionally, it’s
interesting that i find myself personally withdrawing – but it’s a testament to
the fact that my heart now lives outside of my body, in the form of a 12 month
old runningman, with comedic timing like no other, a double-dimpled grin that
absolutely leaves me powerless, and a natural Mohawk to die for. while i have not grown comfortable while
waxing domestic, the role of motherhood is much like the role of teaching. i come to the work jumping off of cliffs
without looking, and find myself too exhausted to sleep… yet the joy is
unparalleled. my son is more astounding
than i could’ve ever guessed, so much so that i struggle to write well about
his influence on my psyche.
but one thing is for sure – he is an old soul. he hears music from the past and recognizes
it; he is well beyond his year. the time
that separates us is spent working with other children, sharing my stories,
teaching them new ways to do and think, trying to complete the circle so that
one day i will practice what i preach full-time, and know how to navigate the
newest path unfolding before my feet.
Tuesday, September 3, 2013
a classroom elegy
welcome back to my educator friends! i enjoy the crisp air of fall during the evenings of late summer, because it signals another year of opportunity, growth and learning -- for both me and my students. while i understand how short the breath of fresh air during summer can feel, i also have a new respect for people in other professions who do not get the glory of a well-deserved summer. though i am still in education, i am not currently a classroom teacher, and spent my summer in programs with youth, running events with families and planning for the fall - so my vacation was lived in weekend getaways up north or day trips to my favorite Michigan places.
this year, we have lofty goals in our program to increase our connection to the school day, so that we are reflecting routines and habits of mind that classroom teachers are using, and to increase and invite parent connections in our program - so that there begins to be parity between what we're teaching and the messages students are getting at home. we have a unique position as an after-school program that requires our parents to pick-up, that we see them on a daily basis. we're also looking to build community partnerships in Wayne and Westland, so that we can build our community action club and youth advisory council's connections to life outside of our program.
more updates coming soon! good luck setting up your classrooms (for those in NYC) and on your opening days with kids (in Michigan). may it be a great fall of questioning, reading, writing and understanding a little more each day.
cheers,
lo
this year, we have lofty goals in our program to increase our connection to the school day, so that we are reflecting routines and habits of mind that classroom teachers are using, and to increase and invite parent connections in our program - so that there begins to be parity between what we're teaching and the messages students are getting at home. we have a unique position as an after-school program that requires our parents to pick-up, that we see them on a daily basis. we're also looking to build community partnerships in Wayne and Westland, so that we can build our community action club and youth advisory council's connections to life outside of our program.
more updates coming soon! good luck setting up your classrooms (for those in NYC) and on your opening days with kids (in Michigan). may it be a great fall of questioning, reading, writing and understanding a little more each day.
cheers,
lo
Sunday, July 21, 2013
why whiteness wins
there are so many more eloquent posts breaking down the recent trial of Trayvon Martin -- oops, i mean george zimmerman -- so i think it's important that i link you to some great reads, that you should check out before reading this. go ahead and take your time, i'll wait.
Gone Agape - White Out
What I want you to know about being a young black man in America
How White Supremacy Tells Its Stories
i have spent the past few weeks sifting through media coverage, blog posts and informal social media analysis, in attempt to make sense of a trial/verdict that was not surprising, but devastating all the same. no matter what i have to say on this topic, one of the overwhelming points that has been made incredibly clear to me in the last few weeks, is that the voices, stories and credibility of people of color to tell their own stories, and have agency over their own lives is still fundamentally lacking. so my perspective is not nearly as important for you to read as the words and analysis of people of color, whose voices need to be heard, but it is also important for me to speak and not remain silent.
no matter my life choices, friendships, what communities i walk or work in, i still reap the benefits of white privilege on a daily basis. it has been eye-opening to leave New York and return to see the impact of race on my family life in a liberal midwest town, where "eracism" bumper stickers are abundant and white folks don't seem to want to have an open dialogue about race, because they are liberal and "could never be racist". they fail to understand the inherent privilege involved in being able to erase racism from their daily existence, to exit the room, avoid conversations that are uncomfortable -- in short, to have the choice as to whether they want to deal with this topic. they take for granted that the police are there to help them, will believe their version of a story, that they are considered innocent until proven guilty (unlike Trayvon, who was found guilty of his own murder), and most of all, that they will not be held responsible for the actions of their entire race -- white people have the freedom to be seen as individuals and aren't consistently essentialized and stereotyped, their every move and decision criticized by both the law and dominant culture.
but we exist in a hypocritical society that has told itself the fiction of "freedom for all" in order to rock itself to sleep at night, when that has never been the case. perhaps many people are convinced that there has been progress because there are successful black actors, musicians and sports stars, because we elected a black president -- but how much has changed if black bodies are merely used for the consumption and entertainment of white people, if violence perpetrated against black people (from Troy Davis, Mumia Abu Jamal, Amadou Diallo, Oscar Grant, Sean Bell, Emmett Till, Trayvon Martin, Rodney King, Malcolm X, Martin Luther King Jr. to name only a very few... to the millions of people currently or formerly in prison, to generations of brutal slavery, to the countless instances of violence and rape against black women that have been normalized, as in the case of Marissa Alexander), how much has changed if violence against black folks is allowed to continue because those who write and interpret our laws don't value the lives of non-white people? having a black president does not mean that the psychology of violence and institutionalized oppression of black and brown people magically disappears - in fact, while he was comparing himself to Trayvon, was he also saying that violence against Middle Eastern people should end? that we were pulling our military out of the Middle East and Northern Africa, where we occupy and safeguard natural resources that don't belong to us? life should be universally respected, throughout the world. I believe that the only thing that will start us on the path to healing is education and consistent, long-term action. becoming engaged and aware, and teaching our children to become engaged and aware citizens who not only tolerate, but truly learn about other cultures, travel outside of the U.S., as well respect and honor the contributions and values of different cultures.
so rather than blogging and thinking i've done something, i am focused on taking action in the places where this conversation isn't happening on its own - in all-white spaces (not that i regularly find myself in those), amongst my conservative family members, and with the students i work with, who may not be "old enough" to talk about these issues, but who also have questions and are trying to process what's happening around them. the idea of shielding kids from the violence of the world is another manifestation of white privilege, and as a mother, i will have to have deep conversations with my son much earlier than i would like. while i understand the desire of many white parents to "protect" their children from talking about these issues, i also understand that black parents do not have the luxury of protecting their children from the reality that we live in - and we must help kids understand both the horrible, real history of our country, and current events like the zimmerman case, so that we can help them understand, critique, and question what happened and why. only then can we work to envision and enact a future that truly values each person's voice, each person's contribution, and each person's life.
this week, we are doing a "walk against hate" in the neighborhood of our school, which was the kids' idea and they are spearheading the messages on signs, the route we're taking and what we will say to the community when they ask us why we're doing this. there is so much work to do, and we must be the ones to work hard to ensure that the script is being re-written, so that justice, and not whiteness, becomes the victor for the first time.
Gone Agape - White Out
What I want you to know about being a young black man in America
How White Supremacy Tells Its Stories
i have spent the past few weeks sifting through media coverage, blog posts and informal social media analysis, in attempt to make sense of a trial/verdict that was not surprising, but devastating all the same. no matter what i have to say on this topic, one of the overwhelming points that has been made incredibly clear to me in the last few weeks, is that the voices, stories and credibility of people of color to tell their own stories, and have agency over their own lives is still fundamentally lacking. so my perspective is not nearly as important for you to read as the words and analysis of people of color, whose voices need to be heard, but it is also important for me to speak and not remain silent.
no matter my life choices, friendships, what communities i walk or work in, i still reap the benefits of white privilege on a daily basis. it has been eye-opening to leave New York and return to see the impact of race on my family life in a liberal midwest town, where "eracism" bumper stickers are abundant and white folks don't seem to want to have an open dialogue about race, because they are liberal and "could never be racist". they fail to understand the inherent privilege involved in being able to erase racism from their daily existence, to exit the room, avoid conversations that are uncomfortable -- in short, to have the choice as to whether they want to deal with this topic. they take for granted that the police are there to help them, will believe their version of a story, that they are considered innocent until proven guilty (unlike Trayvon, who was found guilty of his own murder), and most of all, that they will not be held responsible for the actions of their entire race -- white people have the freedom to be seen as individuals and aren't consistently essentialized and stereotyped, their every move and decision criticized by both the law and dominant culture.
but we exist in a hypocritical society that has told itself the fiction of "freedom for all" in order to rock itself to sleep at night, when that has never been the case. perhaps many people are convinced that there has been progress because there are successful black actors, musicians and sports stars, because we elected a black president -- but how much has changed if black bodies are merely used for the consumption and entertainment of white people, if violence perpetrated against black people (from Troy Davis, Mumia Abu Jamal, Amadou Diallo, Oscar Grant, Sean Bell, Emmett Till, Trayvon Martin, Rodney King, Malcolm X, Martin Luther King Jr. to name only a very few... to the millions of people currently or formerly in prison, to generations of brutal slavery, to the countless instances of violence and rape against black women that have been normalized, as in the case of Marissa Alexander), how much has changed if violence against black folks is allowed to continue because those who write and interpret our laws don't value the lives of non-white people? having a black president does not mean that the psychology of violence and institutionalized oppression of black and brown people magically disappears - in fact, while he was comparing himself to Trayvon, was he also saying that violence against Middle Eastern people should end? that we were pulling our military out of the Middle East and Northern Africa, where we occupy and safeguard natural resources that don't belong to us? life should be universally respected, throughout the world. I believe that the only thing that will start us on the path to healing is education and consistent, long-term action. becoming engaged and aware, and teaching our children to become engaged and aware citizens who not only tolerate, but truly learn about other cultures, travel outside of the U.S., as well respect and honor the contributions and values of different cultures.
so rather than blogging and thinking i've done something, i am focused on taking action in the places where this conversation isn't happening on its own - in all-white spaces (not that i regularly find myself in those), amongst my conservative family members, and with the students i work with, who may not be "old enough" to talk about these issues, but who also have questions and are trying to process what's happening around them. the idea of shielding kids from the violence of the world is another manifestation of white privilege, and as a mother, i will have to have deep conversations with my son much earlier than i would like. while i understand the desire of many white parents to "protect" their children from talking about these issues, i also understand that black parents do not have the luxury of protecting their children from the reality that we live in - and we must help kids understand both the horrible, real history of our country, and current events like the zimmerman case, so that we can help them understand, critique, and question what happened and why. only then can we work to envision and enact a future that truly values each person's voice, each person's contribution, and each person's life.
this week, we are doing a "walk against hate" in the neighborhood of our school, which was the kids' idea and they are spearheading the messages on signs, the route we're taking and what we will say to the community when they ask us why we're doing this. there is so much work to do, and we must be the ones to work hard to ensure that the script is being re-written, so that justice, and not whiteness, becomes the victor for the first time.
Wednesday, December 5, 2012
on googling oneself
it has come to pass that i will google myself from time to time. sometimes these searches uncover old blog entries from 1999 that i can't believe are still archived somewhere in cyberspace - for they are inane and probably embarrassing, were i to read them. sometimes i am performing these searches for curiosity, but mostly around the time that i might be applying for a job, to see what potential employers would see were they to google me. do employers do this anymore? i'm not sure. but my students do, i learned last week, when i assigned a memoir to them and preceded the assignment with the story of my leg injury from 2008. i facetiously mentioned "crime scene photos" referring to the photos that i took of the accident in order to document it, and they dutifully browsed on over to google to see if they could search news stories from the Bronx that would tell the harrowing tale of my violent confrontation with... a midget? a chainsaw? Edward Scissorhands? they weren't sure.
in a recent google search, i also happened upon a library catalog of every zine and chapbook i've ever published, which was enormously exciting to me, to know that even if only on the internet, somewhere in history i am listed as an author of 8 books. time collapsed as these "books" were succinctly described to curious searchers (i.e. me) and i remembered cutting, pasting, drawing, copying and stapling my publications together so many years ago.
two more recent finds that made me a little teary were as follows:
the PBS News Hour report that featured my classroom in 2011...
my acceptance speech for the Courageous Educator award that I received on the morning of my wedding, with my husband-to-be, parents and grandparents in attendance...
moral of the story - i should google myself every once in awhile, to remember some of my favorite life moments, even if no one else is searching for me :)
xo
Lo
in a recent google search, i also happened upon a library catalog of every zine and chapbook i've ever published, which was enormously exciting to me, to know that even if only on the internet, somewhere in history i am listed as an author of 8 books. time collapsed as these "books" were succinctly described to curious searchers (i.e. me) and i remembered cutting, pasting, drawing, copying and stapling my publications together so many years ago.
two more recent finds that made me a little teary were as follows:
the PBS News Hour report that featured my classroom in 2011...
my acceptance speech for the Courageous Educator award that I received on the morning of my wedding, with my husband-to-be, parents and grandparents in attendance...
moral of the story - i should google myself every once in awhile, to remember some of my favorite life moments, even if no one else is searching for me :)
xo
Lo
Wednesday, July 4, 2012
on leaving BK
At the end of what was an incredibly emotional year for me and the entire Banana Kelly community, I began getting emails from my boss that each started off like this: "Due to the closure of Banana Kelly High School..." followed by all the logistical procedures we had to follow at the end of the year. It was incredibly insensitive, when I was literally attending a wake for an educational community that I worked in wholeheartedly, to receive emails reminding us of our own demise.
“Due to the closure of Banana Kelly High School” rings in my ears as "due to the closure of my family" - which doesn't make sense, because families cannot end. The building we existed in, the brick and mortar, was taken from us, but we have always bled our ties out into the streets, and I will be upset with my students if they walk by me on 161st and do not acknowledge that we know one another. (Thank you, Gary Lemons) I still said hi to Rashad on the 2 train last week, who I taught 4 years ago in a summer program and haven't seen since, still remembered his name, because he was and is important to me.
I’ve written testaments before to the ways this school has impacted me, which I’ve read at public hearings and had published in local newspapers as symbols of resistance to the closing of this community space. But as I’m sitting at home in the summer-time, knowing that I will not return to have a classroom there in the fall, I am feeling the loss in a much deeper way. With the contents of my educational life filling up the small room that will soon serve to hold my first child’s firsts, I can’t help to wonder about the fate of my FIRST CHILDREN, at the hands of the DOE. I vow to still advocate for them from afar and support them in succeeding throughout their lives. Because this is for life.
It hurts to make the choice to leave, because ultimately, it will be the children of this community who will lose out again, who will suffer from enduring the rest of their high school years with just-out-of-college educators who will quit and leave in succession. It hurts that their graduation and Regents scores will suffer from the revolving-door that surely follows, which has grave implications on their ability to go to college and train for careers. I believe that we’ve installed enough fighting spirit into them, that they will find alternate paths to their dreams, and push toward them, but they are my children and I worry. Because I am no longer paid to teach them lessons doesn’t mean that the caring can stop. How can you stop caring for a person who you have watched grow, who has watched you grow?
But, as a colleague said, we have our professional and personal dignity, and need to make a decision that is best for us. There is no conspiracy here; which is perhaps even more powerful. We all made choices that are best for us, independently. Very few of us are choosing to return, because everything we loved about BK was enclosed in a few rebel classrooms inside the new republic. Incarcerating, arresting kids, pushing them toward the jail cell and away from the diploma is not how I choose to interact with my children, with my family. We talk of love, honesty, respect and how to grow. We turn fights and arguments into debates and discussions of sociology - why do we act the way we do? What causes our anger, personally and socially? None of us is perfect, but we get to know one another, accept one another and (until last fall) be peaceful with one another. This year was one of violence, and my room became an island of doves with olive branches.
I have an exit letter that I have written to my boss. I hem and haw over if and when to email it to him, as it is harsh and concise, yet includes much-needed knowledge about working with people. He needs lessons in what it means to respect someone. I did not re-apply to the school after we were excessed, and did not apply elsewhere in New York, as I am going to embark upon a career change. It will still be education based, but in the classroom of my home. Now, if you’re keen in senses, you’ve probably realized that I have trouble building boundaries between education and family - as they become intertwined in my life. But it does not make me a better teacher to be cold and disconnected, my students say that one reason they like the way I teach is because I tell stories. I am human, I have experiences that lend themselves well to characters we read about, lessons we discuss. Who I am is a part of how I teach.
My advice to my boss in the exit letter is - be human, let them be human, show them who you are, what you value, what your passion is, and they will respect and listen to you. Not all of the time, but most of the time. It astounds me that he views the world from a very binary perspective - us vs. them, and has not paused to consider the commonalities we have with our students.
This reflection will end with the irony that right after the last day of school, an arbitrator made the decision that the school closings and re-openings were not happening. Banana Kelly will not become CPAL after all (fingers crossed). But perhaps even more bleak is that most of the staff will still be leaving, because despite our love of the kids, it is an inhospitable environment for learning. New textbooks won’t solve a lack of love at home, or generations of drug abuse. They certainly won’t solve the problems of this Bronx community, nor of the racist school system that believes in feeding the prison industrial complex with my children. I refuse to believe that death and jail are the two options for these youth, and choose to educate in a place where other futures are written, not in a place where they first gain a criminal record.
To my students, who I know will never read this, but will have bright futures if it’s the last thing they do... to my esteemed colleagues, who have taught me so much about the craft, the art of teaching... to my island, who have held me together when everything was falling apart... and to my family, everyone who ever roamed the halls of Banana Kelly when Quci was dancing, or Roro was maccin, or T-Skillz was wilin, or Daniel was yelling, or A was saying “ladies and gentlemen, it is now 3rd period... it is time for class!”
“Due to the closure of Banana Kelly High School” rings in my ears as "due to the closure of my family" - which doesn't make sense, because families cannot end. The building we existed in, the brick and mortar, was taken from us, but we have always bled our ties out into the streets, and I will be upset with my students if they walk by me on 161st and do not acknowledge that we know one another. (Thank you, Gary Lemons) I still said hi to Rashad on the 2 train last week, who I taught 4 years ago in a summer program and haven't seen since, still remembered his name, because he was and is important to me.
I’ve written testaments before to the ways this school has impacted me, which I’ve read at public hearings and had published in local newspapers as symbols of resistance to the closing of this community space. But as I’m sitting at home in the summer-time, knowing that I will not return to have a classroom there in the fall, I am feeling the loss in a much deeper way. With the contents of my educational life filling up the small room that will soon serve to hold my first child’s firsts, I can’t help to wonder about the fate of my FIRST CHILDREN, at the hands of the DOE. I vow to still advocate for them from afar and support them in succeeding throughout their lives. Because this is for life.
It hurts to make the choice to leave, because ultimately, it will be the children of this community who will lose out again, who will suffer from enduring the rest of their high school years with just-out-of-college educators who will quit and leave in succession. It hurts that their graduation and Regents scores will suffer from the revolving-door that surely follows, which has grave implications on their ability to go to college and train for careers. I believe that we’ve installed enough fighting spirit into them, that they will find alternate paths to their dreams, and push toward them, but they are my children and I worry. Because I am no longer paid to teach them lessons doesn’t mean that the caring can stop. How can you stop caring for a person who you have watched grow, who has watched you grow?
But, as a colleague said, we have our professional and personal dignity, and need to make a decision that is best for us. There is no conspiracy here; which is perhaps even more powerful. We all made choices that are best for us, independently. Very few of us are choosing to return, because everything we loved about BK was enclosed in a few rebel classrooms inside the new republic. Incarcerating, arresting kids, pushing them toward the jail cell and away from the diploma is not how I choose to interact with my children, with my family. We talk of love, honesty, respect and how to grow. We turn fights and arguments into debates and discussions of sociology - why do we act the way we do? What causes our anger, personally and socially? None of us is perfect, but we get to know one another, accept one another and (until last fall) be peaceful with one another. This year was one of violence, and my room became an island of doves with olive branches.
I have an exit letter that I have written to my boss. I hem and haw over if and when to email it to him, as it is harsh and concise, yet includes much-needed knowledge about working with people. He needs lessons in what it means to respect someone. I did not re-apply to the school after we were excessed, and did not apply elsewhere in New York, as I am going to embark upon a career change. It will still be education based, but in the classroom of my home. Now, if you’re keen in senses, you’ve probably realized that I have trouble building boundaries between education and family - as they become intertwined in my life. But it does not make me a better teacher to be cold and disconnected, my students say that one reason they like the way I teach is because I tell stories. I am human, I have experiences that lend themselves well to characters we read about, lessons we discuss. Who I am is a part of how I teach.
My advice to my boss in the exit letter is - be human, let them be human, show them who you are, what you value, what your passion is, and they will respect and listen to you. Not all of the time, but most of the time. It astounds me that he views the world from a very binary perspective - us vs. them, and has not paused to consider the commonalities we have with our students.
This reflection will end with the irony that right after the last day of school, an arbitrator made the decision that the school closings and re-openings were not happening. Banana Kelly will not become CPAL after all (fingers crossed). But perhaps even more bleak is that most of the staff will still be leaving, because despite our love of the kids, it is an inhospitable environment for learning. New textbooks won’t solve a lack of love at home, or generations of drug abuse. They certainly won’t solve the problems of this Bronx community, nor of the racist school system that believes in feeding the prison industrial complex with my children. I refuse to believe that death and jail are the two options for these youth, and choose to educate in a place where other futures are written, not in a place where they first gain a criminal record.
To my students, who I know will never read this, but will have bright futures if it’s the last thing they do... to my esteemed colleagues, who have taught me so much about the craft, the art of teaching... to my island, who have held me together when everything was falling apart... and to my family, everyone who ever roamed the halls of Banana Kelly when Quci was dancing, or Roro was maccin, or T-Skillz was wilin, or Daniel was yelling, or A was saying “ladies and gentlemen, it is now 3rd period... it is time for class!”
Sunday, April 29, 2012
Poems for Week 3
One thing that I've learned in the process of doing the Poem-A-Day exercise is that I am horrible with the discipline of writing everyday just because I'm supposed to... but that I have and will always respond to deadlines. Week 3 is here... week 4 to follow shortly, because I feel the pressure to finish them by the 30th. Self-imposed pressure is how I usually get things done, but I don't control how the words come to me. I swear I write them almost everyday, but not nearly as often are they anything worth posting on a website.
April 15
There is life flowing
under the cracked concrete
where the grass is upending
man's footprint. This is
where I will make my
next imprint.
April 16
It is up to me to bring
meditation into this madness,
to keep the peace I seek
between my fingertips,
beneath the skin of belly,
inside the cavern
that contains you,
my teacher.
The roles are reversed
and I will soon become
a student of your academy,
a disciple of your divine order.
I am humbled already by
all that you will teach me
on the first day of class.
The more I know, the more
I realize how deep
learning can really go,
and how I have yet
to scratch any surfaces.
April 17
The sun on my skin
in a crowded park in
the south Bronx.
This is my afternoon,
and where I can take
a breath and see the
beauty of ball hitting glove,
where I see you pushing
yourselves physically,
but even more importantly,
bridging gaps between islands
and learning to love one another,
faults and all.
April 18
you inspire me to see art
wherever I go,
and to make art
wherever I am.
i love your fierce
determination to right
wrongs in creative
avenues of brick
you mortar'd yourself.
i am constantly in
awe of you, PJ.
April 19
dear eli:
all that i wish for you
on the day you celebrate
your grand entrance,
is that there are items
of hilariously wrong
sizes all around you,
that love rings in your ears,
and that music fills you
& overflows.
April 20
Yes, this is disorganized
Yes, this is unfair
Yes, the deck is stacked against you,
Yes, I really care.
You are asking all of the
right questions, and I am
confident that some of you
will join me on this path,
in this fight for justice
through everyday lessons.
April 21
One month and we will
formally thread our fingers
into an eternal knot.
There is no one else
with whom I'd rather
be intertwined.
April 22
Earth mama
moon goddess
dark banshee,
will you forsake us,
who have trashed
your frame in
our own image?
April 15
There is life flowing
under the cracked concrete
where the grass is upending
man's footprint. This is
where I will make my
next imprint.
April 16
It is up to me to bring
meditation into this madness,
to keep the peace I seek
between my fingertips,
beneath the skin of belly,
inside the cavern
that contains you,
my teacher.
The roles are reversed
and I will soon become
a student of your academy,
a disciple of your divine order.
I am humbled already by
all that you will teach me
on the first day of class.
The more I know, the more
I realize how deep
learning can really go,
and how I have yet
to scratch any surfaces.
April 17
The sun on my skin
in a crowded park in
the south Bronx.
This is my afternoon,
and where I can take
a breath and see the
beauty of ball hitting glove,
where I see you pushing
yourselves physically,
but even more importantly,
bridging gaps between islands
and learning to love one another,
faults and all.
April 18
you inspire me to see art
wherever I go,
and to make art
wherever I am.
i love your fierce
determination to right
wrongs in creative
avenues of brick
you mortar'd yourself.
i am constantly in
awe of you, PJ.
April 19
dear eli:
all that i wish for you
on the day you celebrate
your grand entrance,
is that there are items
of hilariously wrong
sizes all around you,
that love rings in your ears,
and that music fills you
& overflows.
April 20
Yes, this is disorganized
Yes, this is unfair
Yes, the deck is stacked against you,
Yes, I really care.
You are asking all of the
right questions, and I am
confident that some of you
will join me on this path,
in this fight for justice
through everyday lessons.
April 21
One month and we will
formally thread our fingers
into an eternal knot.
There is no one else
with whom I'd rather
be intertwined.
April 22
Earth mama
moon goddess
dark banshee,
will you forsake us,
who have trashed
your frame in
our own image?
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