Waching daily Jul 29 2017

Nice to be here with you tonight.

If I had known they were going to read the

whole bio I might have shortened it a little bit.

I'm here mostly in my capacity as

as national organizer for 'Million Hoodies'

'Million Hoodies' is a grassroots

network of black and brown organizers

across the United States mostly focused

on issues of mass incarceration,

criminalization, and police brutality.

However these days it's important to

take an intersectional approach to any

issue and we work heavily in

collaboration with orgs focused on violence

against black trans women,

immigrant justice, and other coalition's that are

important to build for our freedom, right?

So I'm here also because my friend

Andrew asked me to speak he was like,

'Henry you know you're an organizer

you're working in these important

movements and like you're also a student

so I feel like you should come through

and like you know spit a poem tell us

something about your relationship to

education.' I was sort of like, 'Andrew I

haven't had the easiest relationship to

education to be honest.

It took me

five years to get through high school.

I often had a lot of trouble

participating in classrooms you know I

was one of those loud kids always kind

of getting myself into trouble.

And so, this poem that I ended up writing

focuses on this one teacher, Mr. Bredbrenner

During a period where I was kind

of getting myself into a lot of trouble

he took a step to help me that no one

else was willing to at that point in time

and so I wanted to take this space

to kind of like give thanks to him.

Thank you

Yo also shout-out to Urban Word

it's great to have other spoken word poets in the house.

Urban Word does

this open mic series called, 'Rough Draft'

(audience) 'First Draft'

First Draft? 'First Draft,' that's what it is.

I was thinking about that,

I was like you know what?

like I'm about to come through

with a 'First Draft' poem tonight

Teachers used to say I was a bad kid

had a lot of absence never good at practice

or asking permission.

They said raise your hand keep your seat

pay close attention to my presence when I speak.

Rules kept me boxed in

felt trapped as a young kid

Wasn't lots of space for a rascal with short

attention and penchant for talking.

I always read my own books sitting in the

back of class often kicked out or

isolated had a habit of tantrums and

turning hands to drumsticks.

They wouldhave left me back but I test well only

weighted measure of a "smart kid."

Flash-forward to an alienated teen with bad

anxieties curiosity led to some poor

decisions an impropriety.

A little bag of paraphernalia that once held weed this

This was Virginia here so,

the administration of zero-tolerance they tried to expel me

said I had to find some advocates to

defend me, but told teachers not to step

in the way of safety and crime free community.

And yet still one did

write a formal letter vouching

for my character.

A teacher's intervention for a student without having to.

Help when this system was ready to

push me out to loose bureaucracies

or always post-fact processes

their only truth.

I still got suspended,

folks said I gave them too much attitude.

But I returned 5 months later

knowing because of that teacher I back in school

a Scholar Poet

Community danger

School to Prison Pipeline Breaker

A real monster on the loose

Thank you

For more infomation >> Henry Gonzalez @ Housing Works Bookstore for #TeachMeYouDid and Imagine Better - Duration: 4:14.

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Roya Marsh @ Housing Works Bookstore for #TeachMeYouDid and Imagine Better - Duration: 3:00.

First of all, Hello, Greetings

My name is Rory Marsh I'm a black poet

who will not remain silent while this

nation continues to murder black people

I have a right to be angry I have a

right to be joyful it is hella bright up

here did not expect that and also don't

think it's necessary, but it's okay

because I like it.

I am going to share a poem for you tonight you're all

beautiful as am I probably a little bit

more beautifuler because I'm up here and

y'all are down there but it's okay

there's no hierarchy going to say what I

need to say and we're going to get it

going my name is Roya and I am present.

All right.

I never considered my mouth any more than a dumpster

something two house the waste

never considered my word anything more than

trash something worth disposing

I received the truth ass-backwards as a

swallowed tongue for those more crooked

than the crooks themselves stealing the intangible.

Dreams, it wasn't a matter of

suffering more of knowing the difference

between suffering and dying and how a

woman told me how I could bend it into a

life of difference. She taught me three things:

One, how to live the word every

exhale a poem another reason to breathe

giving birth to parts of myself I never

deemed worthy of life.

Two, how womanless and weaponless

warriors can still be

conquerors how no mind has ever killed

anything other than ignorance.

Three,

That a garden of prophecies could blossom

from the mouth condemned by white

supremacy both woman and brown-skinned I

am merely a manifestation of the melanated mahogany

A stone pillar

passionately passing patience and

pillars through poems this is nowhere

near a thank you just a whisper pollen

soft gently pushing its way into the

notepad of another needy soul you are

more than a teacher, a Jedi, forcefully

teaching factions and to the hearts and

I will never be able to repay this debt

but I will surely push forward to hope

and form of the future today I give you what I know.

Everything you may need to

help you grow and I pray that you choose

to use these tools counting, reading, and

following rules how you will grow as the

years go by eager to share your wisdom

and grace remember your days here with me

and take that beauty every place.

Thank you

For more infomation >> Roya Marsh @ Housing Works Bookstore for #TeachMeYouDid and Imagine Better - Duration: 3:00.

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Shanelle Gabriel @ Housing Works Bookstore for #TeachMeYouDid and Imagine Better - Duration: 4:16.

Alright so that was a really, really

great letter to a father.

And, I have a poem about my father,

I'm of West Indian-Caribbean descent I'm Trinidadian

I's a Trini

And something that I'm starting to

do now because I realized that my father

is getting older is I sneak video and

voice record him when he's talking and

telling his stories to me so that I will

always have them and always be able to

reflect upon them randomly.

So my father has taught me a lot and he every

time I'm in his car he gives me lesson

so I'm gonna tell you a story about my father.

The poem is called, 'Teaching Me How to Shoot'

Not guns.

True story

Labor Day is family reunion to me

my blood runs thick with Trinidad TNT

so my daddy tells me to meet him on a late

August day in Brooklyn I know who I'll see

him, he partners, and them

see this time was no different he introduced me

to a man and his son the son eyeballed me

like I was a juicy mango as he said,

'Wow Mr. Gabriel your daughter is mad beautiful.'

he tried to holler at me in front of my father

my father paused to see my reaction

the boy's father laughed

and made an interjection between the

failed pickup line and the dead air

he said, 'Son you better watch what you say to

Clyde's daughter the man has a gun.'

He said this just for fun,

but on the real everyone knows that my dad has one.

See, the son's mouth was emptier than

when a party was over as my father put

his unironed hands on his shoulder

'Young man to tell you the truth you don't have

to worry about me 'cause I taught my

daughter how to shoot.'

And this poem goes out to the Daddy's girls

whose father taught them to take shots of

Grey Goose long before the legal limit

so you know not to go back to a glass

that you left and walk back to

who showed up at school when that little boy hit you

and none of the other little boys ever

bothered you again.

See, this poem goes out

to the Daddy's girls who know the

statistics but whos experience was

different.

Whose father taught them to walk on the

inside of the street because you aren't for sale.

Daddy's girls whose mom bust her

tail when they misbehave but the true

moment of fear came 'when i'mma tell your father' was said

and every Daddy's girls

know when mommy says, 'no' daddy always says, 'yes'

see my mother taught me how

to be nurturing how to love everyone else

outside of my supper.

My dad had swag and confidence told me not to think

in vain to give myself compliments

taught me how to balance the emotional me

with thinking logically this goes out to all

the Daddy's girls who still call their

father at half-past three when the car

won't start after they've left the party.

Daddy's girls who going to school with their

hair in lopsided ponytails because

clips and bows only made him more confused.

Daddy's girls who were taught to create

the perfect blend of fear

and admiration taught how to shoot vodka

without the chaser.

Dads who taught that the man should be

the one to chase ya.

Whose daughter's are raised like sheltered sons,

made them appreciate old westerns and the NBA

whose father told them to go for

their MBA even though they barely made

it past the sixth grade.

Kryptonite to cavalier boyfriends,

didn't scare them all away

only the ones

whose casual attire and career goals didn't make sense.

See, this poem goes out to the Daddy's girls.

This poem goes out to the Daddy's girls

who know that sometimes a woman

scorn can make a bitter mother.

Mother's who think that the failed

relationship should end the ones that

fathers have with their kids wishing

that could suck out his DNA like it was

poison and erase any trace of lineage

from their kids face, this goes out to the

Daddy's girls whose father may not have stayed

Maybe even played the heck out

of their mom while he didn't give her

the love and respect she was due.

He still gave it to you

and he showed you what a man should and shouldn't do

Daddy's girls who know that perfection

isn't always part of the human equation

that its easy to miss the bullseye and

even if he messed up more than a few times

you appreciate the time he took

before he closed his eyes

to try

For more infomation >> Shanelle Gabriel @ Housing Works Bookstore for #TeachMeYouDid and Imagine Better - Duration: 4:16.

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Falu @ Housing Works Bookstore for #TeachMeYouDid and Imagine Better - Duration: 2:40.

I want to say it was Miss Bennett

her strict Caribbean whipped tongue a line

of sarcasm mixed in with our

Shakespearean reading.

I remember once reading aloud

I said, 'Colonial' as 'Colonel,' and she said

'eh eh what happened to you?' and I knew from that

moment she wouldn't let me fail even if I tried.

I want to say it was Miss Wright Lewis

my grandmother's mentee who became

not only my English teacher but my mentor.

She gave me my first gig at

Mot and May celebration and I knew from

that moment I could be a writer.

And black and unapologetic and revolutionary

and woman I want to say it was Miss

Brathwait who matured me in third grade.

Once she graded a test and came over to

me and said, 'excuse me I've had salad

with onions but look at this test excuse

my breath but look at this test

ninety-eight you are soaring!'

And then she underlined the 98th twice hard in

red and I knew from that moment that

salads with onions didn't really smell

good and it was fine to be smart because

she let me erase and wash the board and

I didn't want to not be smart after that

because there is a reward in being smart.

I want to say it was my grandmother who

got a double master's degree in English

with five children and wouldn't let me

say, 'I ain't got no' but she let me know

that she ain't got no problem with slang

because colloquialism doesn't make you no dummy.

And I knew from that moment that I

didn't have to turn my back on my

neighborhood to make it out alive.

I want to say it was Mahogany who saved my life

over and over I want to say it was

Mrs. Thayer who taught me how to throw my

legs over my head to move the gas

throughout my body. I want to say it was

Jele who taught me all things I know

about love and sacrifice and dyeing my

hair red, but more I want to say it was

my mother who encouraged these

relationships, who was not intimidated by

all these teacher-mothers who taught me

everything I needed

to know about humility and admitting

that I am powerless over certain

addictions but most of all I want to say

it was my mother who taught me that I am

powerful over anything else.

Thank you

For more infomation >> Falu @ Housing Works Bookstore for #TeachMeYouDid and Imagine Better - Duration: 2:40.

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Top Best Fast And Secure Web Browsers for Android Of 2017 - Duration: 7:55.

hi everyone in this video I will show you top best fast and secure web

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now with html5 support enabled the overall performance does increase apply

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look

For more infomation >> Top Best Fast And Secure Web Browsers for Android Of 2017 - Duration: 7:55.

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Baratunde Thurston @ Housing Works Bookstore for #TeachMeYouDid - Duration: 7:38.

What's up y'all?

Stretchings good I'm just saying

professional stretcher. James West was

James West was his name it didn't sound like a real

name to me in some ways it sounded like

something you'd get from a 'name

generator' website for pioneering

masculine adventurers the names "West,

James West" and then he would recede

into blackness behind a cloud of

hand-rolled cigars smoke into the

darkness from whence he came I didn't

know his backstory but I know he's part

of mine. My mother was always explicitly

my greatest teacher she played the part

of mother, father, and sensei offering

paradoxical wisdom like, "if you don't

know how to spell a word look it up in

the dictionary" statements that sounded

folksy yet profound yet

matter-of-fact but sometimes break down

under the scrutiny of logic, thanks ma.

Community was important to my mother she

worried that I didn't invite friends

over enough, she dreamed that she my

sister and I would all live together if

not in the same structure, at least on

the same property.

She had me research hippy international

communes when I was 11 years old

yet an assessment of her own social

network revealed someone who was

essentially alone and seemingly by

choice. Except for a few people like

James West he was a tall, lean, bearded

black man who was the real-life version

of the Haman brothers from 'In Living

Color' which is to say he had a lot of

jobs simultaneously Bassist, Bicycle

Courier, Photographer, Cellist, Caretaker

of Fish and certainly more that I never

saw but I did see a lot. He lived one

short block away almost literally around

the corner. We visited him often and

unannounced at his apartment whose

window faced 16th Street in

Washington D.C's

Mount Pleasant neighborhood. This was a time

before ranged central Wi-Fi video cameras

and cell phone, text messaging and

working lobby buzzers in the case of his

building. So my family and I did what

proud black folk have done across the

diaspora for generations. We made a

joyful noise, we lifted our voices, and

sang, "Ay James! James West! Ayo James!"

We yelled this in unison with no formal

agreement that we would do so but with

shared knowledge that this was the most

reasonable way in the world to reach one

man in one apartment five floors up.

Inside his layered life revealed itself

instruments everywhere, fish tanks

everywhere, photographs everywhere, even

in stillness his apartment like his life

was in constant motion which is how I

usually experienced him. James gliding on

his bike body tense with well practiced

strength. James snapping photos and

rotating the lens freezing time in the

space of a 3 by 5 or a 4 by 6 or an 8 by

10 frame.

James thumbing the strings on his

upright bass walking up and down the

neck of the instrument the way his legs

walked up and down his apartment stairs.

James West covered and captured great

distances because he took every step in

life two at a time because he had no

time to waste.

What Black American does? I don't know

his backstory but I know he's part of

mine. He tutored me on my own upright

bass the one that was absurdly taller

and heavier and wider than little me.

He introduced me to the cello which he

reasoned was like a little bass so I

should be able to adapt and understand

quickly. He showed me how to develop film

in the darkroom which existed in his

apartment in some fold in space-time

that resourceful people always managed

to create for the things that bring them

joy and meaning and escape. He told me to

be the best at what I was, even if what I

was going to be was a Wine-o. "Be the best

Wine-o" he said and then

objected to the sharing of high

achievement thinking to a child and

where have the Wine-o's gone today? Do they

even exist or have they faded away

into a fold in space-time along with the

Ragman, Iceman, and the Gunslingers from

yesterday. It would be years after I left

DC that I would look at photos and see a

resemblance between James West and my

father. The father who was killed in 1985

when I was seven years old but he didn't

live with us before that for reasons

requiring a different story about a

different type of teacher and darker

lessons that aren't mine to share, just

now. It would be years after I left D.C

that I would look at myself and

except for the fish see that I had

modeled my movements on those of James

West; I had played multiple instruments

through middle school, I photographed and

bicycles my way through college and I

always had multiple jobs simultaneously.

My mother and sister actually did call

me the "Jamaican" of the family. My mother

never sat me down and explained that she

was trying to give me a human roadmap

for manhood in the form of a man like

James West. She didn't draw the life

balancing equations on a whiteboard

which showed the absent father on one

side and the present neighbor on the

other she didn't have to. His proximity

was demonstration and explanation enough.

I had absorbed parts of this man's

way of being. I internalized his hustle,

his motion, his ambidextrous, and

polyphonic way of existing in a world

which denies black people even one life,

one passion, one job, and here was a man

who had several at the same damn time.

In a world in which blackness is derided,

destroyed, defiled, and denied James West

was a rebel for daring to live as a

multitude. He lived in excellence and joy

and self-expression he breathed in

deeply and richly. He exhaled long

graceful undulating breaths, which I

breathed in without even questioning

or recognizing as an act of bravery.

That's what he taught me. James West

modeled bravery for me by fooling me into

thinking it was normal to live fully

so that I could live fearlessly. That was

the gift he gave me to be raised to

know and feel entitled to live, free.

To believe I deserve that which is

systematically denied to people who look

just like, me.

James West is his name I don't know his

backstory but I know he's part of mine.

Thank you

For more infomation >> Baratunde Thurston @ Housing Works Bookstore for #TeachMeYouDid - Duration: 7:38.

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CARTOON RAKHI | RAKHI MAKING COMPETITION IN SCHOOL | RAKHI FOR KIDS | RAKHI MAKING | DIY PIKACHU - Duration: 3:09.

HI GUYS,HOW ARE YOU TODAY ?

THANKS FOR WATCHING MY CHANNEL

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AND IN THIS VIDEO I AM GOING TO MAKE PIKACHU RAKHI

RAKHSHA BANDHAN IS A FESTIVAL THAT CELEBRATES LOVE AND DUTY BETWEEN BROTHER AND SISTER AND

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For more infomation >> CARTOON RAKHI | RAKHI MAKING COMPETITION IN SCHOOL | RAKHI FOR KIDS | RAKHI MAKING | DIY PIKACHU - Duration: 3:09.

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Grieving father pleads for answers after son's deadly shooting in January - Duration: 1:13.

For more infomation >> Grieving father pleads for answers after son's deadly shooting in January - Duration: 1:13.

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Scotty Crowe @ Housing Works Bookstore for #TeachMeYouDid - Duration: 1:52.

Hey y'all

Thank You Liz thank you Andrew so as Liz

mentioned I just moved here fairly

recently to work with the future project

and it's an education non-profit that

tries to empower young people through

placing really dynamic, exciting,

ingenious mentors in their schools I am

NOT one of those people. And Mrs. Who

says, "the light shineth in darkness and

darkness comprehended it not" and then

Charles Wallace says, "oh Jesus is a

fighter" and Mrs. Whatsit says, "Yes, there

are others all of your great artists

they've all been lights for us to see by"

and then the students or kids start

naming other heroes that they can

think of so they say Gandhi and

Michelangelo and Da Vinci and Madame

Curie and Bach and Beethoven Mother

Teresa and that really hit me because I

think that it did a couple things and the

first was it let me understand that the

idea of being an artist and having

artistry is not just somebody who is

particularly creative right like

scientists and political activists and

community leaders and mathematicians and

everybody in our life has an artistry

with what they do and everybody can use

that artistry to fight this darkness

with their own light and I just love and

I thought it was so beautiful to sort of

think about looking up at the sky and

imagining that light that's coming down

as us being connected to that and

whatever we're after in life so that's

my story shouts to Mr. Miller and I think

teaching me a lesson about fighting

darkness with light much sooner than I

realized that I would need it. Thank You.

realized that I would need it. Thank You.

For more infomation >> Scotty Crowe @ Housing Works Bookstore for #TeachMeYouDid - Duration: 1:52.

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Steven Willis @ Housing Works Bookstore for #TeachMeYouDid and Imagine Better - Duration: 4:37.

I think I'm the only one

who got the full bio today so thank you

thank you thank you I appreciate that

appreciate that.

First thing, May the Fourth be with you

I want to first dedicate my performance to

a teacher Ms. Mudgren my 10th grade

English teacher who was the first to

teach me the intricacies of

African-American Vernacular English or

Ebonics. And what I thought at the time

was just (it was) a very weak way to try to

appeal to a group of all

African-American students.

I later realized that it was that first day of

class and that teaching that would then

transform the way that I viewed my art.

One, understanding that the weapon of the

African American is Culture and then

number two, being able to redefine what

that culture is.

So this, This is Ebonics 101

Good evening class no I'm gonna need you

to talk back to me I said good evening

class good evening class

Now perhaps I should start this poem by

informing you that I am bilingual.

That the Queen's English that I speak so

eloquently before you now it's not my

first language, no.

My grandmother never used such diction when she spoke me up

in the welfare line amongst the other dwellers.

Or when she called down to me from the project window for dinner, no.

We spoke almost Southern-fried English.

This rhetorical recipe has been in my

family for generations

grandma say, 'Big Mama hid it under her

tongue when she headed for Northern cities

during the Great Migration.'

See scholars call it African American Vernacular English

but my guys they call it, 'slang.'

The Man calls it, 'Ebonics.'

I call it, 'America's Creole the last remaining squab

birthed from a European and African pidgeon.

Turned into the dialect of the doughboys,

the bass it appears in a rappers rhythmic

rhetoric spoken everywhere from the

Traphouse to the liquor store, from the

HIV testing clinic to the bus stop.

Ebonics is the official language

of the undefined black culture.

The native tongue to the underrepresented Black American

and long before I received liberal art degrees and stood on

unopposing academic settings.

I was born on the Southside of Chicago and managed

to garner up enough street cred from the

school of hard knocks to qualify me to

teach you all a few of my language's

essentials so hipsters hope you have your

notepads ready because this, well this is 'Ebonics 101'

Chapter One

Any English word that holds an, 'I + N' combination

with an 'I' eye becomes an 'A'

Like Billie Holiday couldn't 'sing' that girl could 'sang.'

If Martin did all that walking

I wonder if him feet stank traveled all

them miles just to hear freedom rang.

I wonder what he was 'thankin''

Chapter Two

Any English word that has an 'O + R' combination

with an 'R' sound becomes silent.

Like, Emmett screaming, 'don't beat me no mo.''

Like Rodney screaming,

'don't beat me no mo'

Like Trayvon asking,

'What is you following me fo?!''

Chapter three

Any English words that holds an 'E + R' combination

where the 'E + R' becomes an 'A'

like in the great quote from the linguistics scholar Ms. Lauryn Hill,

'And even after all my logic in my theory

I add a "motherfucker" so you

ignant' n***** hear me'

See, there's culture in these words.

The bended back of my speech comes from years of

carrying the black experience, the verbal

diaspora of Africa shapes our spine.

We cross our T's with the middle passage.

Dot our 'I's' with strange fruits.

Curver our 'S's' with Mid-Atlantic roots

you cannot expect us to be slaves to your

phonetics forever. And just like our

history we will defy the structure of

your Jim Crow grammar refuse to speak

within the lines of your mason-dixon diction.

You cannot correct this, context this

connotate my accomplishments.

See me

Be Black

Male

Use double negative to make positive.

He will write until the

black story nor longest subsists.

He will write until the clenched pen is synonymous

with a clenched fist.

He will write until the black male

is able to Live

Be

Exist

Class Dismissed

For more infomation >> Steven Willis @ Housing Works Bookstore for #TeachMeYouDid and Imagine Better - Duration: 4:37.

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FBI searches for woman accused of stealing $100,000 - Duration: 1:17.

For more infomation >> FBI searches for woman accused of stealing $100,000 - Duration: 1:17.

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Karl Iglesias @ Housing Works Bookstore for #TeachMeYouDid and Imagine Better - Duration: 5:21.

Thank you guys for bearing with me I know I'm the last performer.

I'll keep this brief.

As much as possible. But I also have a story to tell.

And one was because our bios

are very embarrassing and I think that's been

theme of the evening.

I made a new one, right? Because I have two resumes, right?

And one has all that fancy

stuff on it and then my other one it's

for a teaching artist because that's

where I make most of my money because we

don't as artists, right? So here's a

different bio: Karl is a lifelong advocate

for education he has taught in

classrooms from kindergarten through

high school. He's had students pee

on themselves, fight, and kiss in

front of him. All terrifying experiences.

A resource teacher for students on the

autism spectrum for several years as a

paraprofessional and a teaching artist

for ten years. And most recently he's an

urban word mentor, which has brought me

here, right? I want to say a quick poem

paying homage to the mental health

that teachers are never recognized

for sacrificing. The fact that you have

to fall in love and let go of a group of

people every year is baffling to like

normal folks you know? And then fall in

love with their problems whether that's

at home or at school seeing them as

potential all those things or if you've

ever even lost a student it is like

losing a family member, right?

Especially because you put so much time

into them and some things are just so

unfair. So this is a poem I've never

shared before but I thought this would

be the most appropriate and time to

just share for the first time. About a

student, the only student that I've ever

lost. I just want to say thank you to

all the teachers who are here and if

you have lost somebody who

as a student I'm sorry I'm dearly sorry.

Really quickly before I

start I do this just because my roots are

as an MC so,

really quick I'm gonna count to three

twice the first time I count to three I

just want you to say somebody who has

taught you something an educator in your

life I want you to say it as loud as you

can just to show them respect. The second

time I count to three I want you to say

the name of a younger person who has

taught you something if you are an

educator okay? One, two, three

and one, two, three. Awesome so that energy is in the

air thank you guys.

In the Summer she finds refuge in matching sharpie covered

t-shirts and theater games. Writing poems

on open floors, an open forum, open arms

sharing new names writing our stories

together. This is where a young scribe of

scribbles stitches her heart to her

sleeve. Emily is on the autism spectrum

Emily needs her space, doesn't like

sudden changes, doesn't like loud noises,

she is a sharp hedgehog in a maze of

red balloons. When Emily isn't in sight

teachers are alerted, our hearts beat a

fire drill because on the hard days she

is not aware of her worth. And the

hardest days she marks with a scar.

She is a scratched surface, potential for

better or worse, we are terrified and

just want to give her the words to win

the argument against herself. The battle

for her body I am running through the

hallways like a maze jumping into every

classroom, the basement, darting outside

of the building, the parking lot, back

into the storm of children wearing the

same gray t-shirt. I am desperately

looking for a puzzle piece that doesn't

quite fit. My face beaded from the Sun

trying to catch my breath.

She was in the theater all smiles with

eyes of daybreak. I wear the urgency of a

tardy hero my name on my chest, her name

on my shoulder both in sharpie. I'm left

I'm left a patchwork balloon deflated, but

consoled. She is in the theater and one

of the people I am most proud of.

I'm relieved to know where she is.

Thank you.