Old Glory

I will never forget it.

Driving down 19th Street. Brooklyn, New York. Windows down. Sunny, with blue skies. Singing along with Prince on the radio, “I’m not your lover. I’m not your friend. I’m something that you’ll never comprehend.”

“Are they honking at me?” I asked my daughter. But the honking continued, until every car was honking. People were coming out of their homes, spilling into the streets. They were hanging out of their windows. Cheering, hugging, fists pumping.

“What is going on?” I asked out loud. My daughter wondered with me. Then she got a text. From little Ananda Lou in Texas. “Mom, Biden won Pennsylvania!” Knowing full well what that meant, I dared to hope they had finally called Pennsylvania, but had a hard time believing it as it seemed like the ballot counting would never end.

We turned onto Cortelyou Road and then we heard it. The DJ drowned out Prince. “Joe Biden is the 46th President of the United States of America.”

I will never forget it. Ever. That split second of cognition, absorbing it. The reality. The relief. The subsequent joy giving way to tangible, living, electric hope.

We honked. We cheered. We hung out of the car windows. We parked the car and took it to the street, celebrating with our community. While we were Black, White, Latinx, Asian, Indian, Native American, male, female, gender neutral, LGBTQ, and so much more, we were none of those things. Because for that moment we were simply Americans.

Strangers, yet in the moment friends, popped a bottle of champagne. They offered me a glass. I politely declined. Then quickly changed my mind. “If I don’t toast with you guys, I’ll regret it for the rest of my life.” They laughed and poured a glass for me. Six feet apart, we toasted “Freedom.” We toasted “Basic Human Decency.” We toasted “The Constitution.”

I watched my daughter cheer. It was in that instant that I realized we were cheering in part for a woman. The first female Vice President of the United States of America. We were cheering for Kamala Harris.

As a woman, a woman who was raised by a single mother, a woman who is a mother to mixed-race sons and daughters, a woman who is married to a Black man, I felt it. Deep, deep down, I felt it. There aren’t really words for it. But y’all know what I’m talking about. It’s like that door opened. You know the one.

Driving home, we came up on a red Coupe de Ville. The driver waved the American flag. And I was struck by something. Once again. After so long. It was Gratitude. Reverence. Pride. All rolled into one. The Pledge of Allegiance went round in my head. Its promise. Ever closer. Closer today than yesterday. And God help us, closer tomorrow than the day before. For my sons and my daughters, for my neighbors and countrymen…

Liberty and justice for all.

”Old Glory”
Brooklyn, New York
November 7, 2020

Making My Mark

I went to Bristol on Sunday. Bristol, Pennsylvania. To get a desk. But not just any desk. A beauty. A magic maker.

When I announced my plan on Saturday night, my husband started to protest but decided against it. After twenty-one years he knows better. It’s a waste of energy. Because I’m going anyway. So what did he do? He got in the car. (Hee Hee). Because he knows there is nothing better than hitting the road with a crazy woman!

We set out early, just after sunrise. Always at home on the road, my senses came alive. Fall. The air was crisp and cool, the day new. The New York City skyline bid us good morning, and we crossed the Verrazzano Bridge. We drove the New Jersey Turnpike, then crossed the Delaware River and rolled right into Bristol. Simple and wonderful.

”Downtown Bristol”
Bristol, Pennsylvania
October 18, 2020
”On the Banks of the Delaware”
Bristol, Pennsylvania
October 18, 2020

First things first, we found the home of The Painted Sage. I discovered her on Facebook Marketplace, where my quest for the perfect writing desk began. Refusing to settle for a mass produced, cheaply made but expensive, brand spanking new but charmless, piece of furniture, hauled around the country by a big gas-guzzling truck, I reached out to her about a beautiful antique desk that she revamped and posted for sale. I was informed that it had already sold. She provided her Instagram info and recommended that I check it for new postings.

Stalking her Instagram account, a few days later, I saw it go up! Another desk. MY DESK! It was exactly what I was looking for! So there I was in Bristol, pulling up to her precious front door.

There was a car in the driveway. On the back window, in perfect artsy white letters, it declared ‘Just Married.’ Damn COVID-19! Because I wanted to talk to her, learn her story. I wanted to see her face. I could see a faint smile in her exposed eyes. She looked like someone I would love to know. But instead, I was in and out, paying for the desk, mumbling through the mask, and loading it in the back of my 4-Runner with my husband’s help.

Realizing how conscious this choice was for me, this putting my money where my mouth is and supporting a local artist, this minimizing my carbon footprint on our glorious globe, this ‘not settling’ for some boring crappy desk, I paused to give thanks for my own vision and tenacity as we drove away.

Before heading back to Brooklyn, we explored historic Mill Street in downtown Bristol. Since it was so early, very few shops were open. One lovely little antique shop welcomed me with open doors. Over sips of their most delicious Fall Lattes, at Calm Waters Coffee Roasters, I remarked on my good fortune. My husband laughed and admitted it, “The desk is beautiful.” I picked up a piece of chalk and left my mark.

”Making My Mark”
Calm Waters Coffee Roasters
Bristol, Pennsylvania
October 18, 2020

There are so many places out there, and I intend to go where my heart leads, and see all that I can see. There are so many people out there, so many souls, and I intend to know as many as I can. There is such beauty out there. Such art. The artists, the dreamers, my people, I intend to find them. To share. To grow.

”Downtown Bristol”
Bristol, Pennsylvania
October 18, 2020

I consider the little moments and the big moments, and everything in between; and as I feather my nest in preparation for another NYC winter, as I begin to immerse myself in the writing, I consider this moment right here, and my place in the grand cosmos. Just little old me, on the fifth floor, somewhere in Brooklyn…

Ahhh, great things are going to come off this little desk, great things.

”Magic Maker”
Brooklyn, New York
October 22, 2020

Going Home

”Going Home”
Childhood Hearth and Home
Boyd, Texas
September 10, 2020

Find yourself again, where dreams dwell.

In that secret space. In that safe place.

Remember it? From youth?

It’s always there. Where memory waits.

Rest there.

There is such quiet power in being still.

In just listening.

To your heart.

Peek-A-Boo. You see you.

Dare.

To find your way home again…

”You See You”
Childhood Hearth and Home
Boyd, Texas
September 10, 2020

Living

”River Prince”
San Marcos, River
San Marcos, Texas
Summer 2020

“The river is resting,” he says.

“Yes, it’s healing, and it’s beautiful to witness,” I reply.

We paddle upstream from Rio Vista Park. Such beauty. The canopy of trees shades us as we take in Mother Earth in all her glory, sharing the cool clear water with our fish and turtle friends- a living, breathing, beautiful part of magical, mystical creation.

The green canopy gives way to bright sunshine. I raise my face and take it in. Completely present. Right here, right now.

I paddle to the bank, and park my board. I swim. Moving through the water, one with Mother Earth.

Completely, totally, utterly alive, I watch my children as they navigate the San Marcos River. What else is there but this right here? What else matters but what is right now? Nothing. Nothing else.

”Promise Kept”
San Marcos River
San Marcos, Texas
Summer 2020

There isn’t much a pandemic is good for. Except rest. And reflection. Ultimately, a reset. It was the promise of this reunion and the dream of holding my four in my arms, this annual river baptism, that got me through. Faith. Pure faith. That summer would see us together, safe and sound.

My darlings, right now is all we ever really own. And faith is the bridge to all of our tomorrows.

The sweetness of this moment is not lost on me. I know full well what it means. Faith in motion, giving way to the sound of laughter, feeling cool liquid life on my skin… this is living.

”Together Again”
San Marcos, Texas
Summer 2020

A Girl With Grandfathers

”Pa Pa and Me”
June 28, 2020
Springtown, Texas

There’s a place out there, at the edge of day, where love waits. Straddling two worlds, old and new, still here, we walk.

My grandmothers have gone. Ahead.

The sound of our voices and the feel of arms, gathered up in hugs, the gentle brush of lips on cheeks, never more precious as now in these moments with grandfathers. Every story, every laugh, every lesson, every single little word pure gold.

I never expected to find myself here. In these days without grandmothers. Holding on tightly to one another, to all that remains. And yet there is peace as conversation fills the space and I learn how to plant tomatoes and how to pick okra. I memorize the recipe for pickles and recount how to make stew, my grandfather’s stew.

I close my eyes to the constant tick of the clock as it fills the silent places. I open my eyes to the sound of the Grand Ole Opry. From my grandmother’s chair, I look over at the chair next to me. Remote control in hand, he smiles at me, pleased with himself. I smile back. He turns to watch the television.

There isn’t a place on earth I’d rather be right now, nothing I’d rather be in this moment right here than my grandmothers’ granddaughter… a girl with grandfathers.

”Grandad and Me”
July 26, 2020
Boyd, Texas

Sister New Orleans

”Sister New Orleans”
French Quarter
New Orleans, Louisiana

It is the rare moment, when I meet you in the quiet, Sister New Orleans, that I love you most; just the two of us speaking the same language, sharing secrets, and storytelling.

Spirit to spirit, a perfect match, you and I, with our colorful pasts, our glorious scandals. Both of us preferring night over morning, and neither of us giving a damn but for this moment right here. For it is poetry… our native tongue.

Tear It Down

”10:21 AM”
Richmond, Virginia
Robert E. Lee Memorial
June 15, 2020

Here I am, and there you be. So many times I’ve walked past you, Your Highness, but you never noticed me. From your place in the sky.

Day after day. Year after year. Life after life. I’m struggling here. To understand.

Maybe you’re right. Maybe it’s true. That you’ll never love me the way I love you. Do you even know what love is?

I don’t belong here, at least that’s what you say. With Robert E. Lee leading the way. But ‘We the People’ do not agree.

Gathered about him, all American hues. Evenings of protests, and singing the blues. For the scores of lives lost on the general’s watch.

Under cover of night, with cans of spray in hand, Skateboard Brothers redesigned him to suit this great land. That’s why I’m sitting here.

So here I am, and there you be. 10:21, Monday morning, and you were right when you said, as you stomp out the living and elevate the dead, that ‘we are not the same’.

Brothers and Sisters, look closer. Come on, don’t you see? The reckoning’s for you as much as for me. For the train is coming and it’s rolling in fast. Carrying sweet freedom, once we bury the past.

Tear it down…

(This poem was inspired by the capture of the Robert E. Lee monument in Richmond, Virginia on June 14th, 2020. On my way out of town I stopped by the monument with my camera in hopes of snapping an image that would translate the spirit of the movement, having been so affected by the show of strength and unity at the protest the night before. I was moved to the point of tears to find this young man resting peacefully on the monument in the morning aftermath.)

For Mamas

My daughter messaged me from Texas last night, concerned, wondering why she had not heard my voice on a subject so intensely personal to me specifically as well as to our family as a whole. She encouraged me to speak, so here I am.

I’ve been absent from social media, choosing quiet reflection over discussion in order to get a grip on my emotions during this time. Friends, I just couldn’t find words. I had to lay down my pen for a time. I’ve been grieving. Deep down in my soul. Over the loss of precious life, and the darkness in man.

After so long, what are we still doing here?

I cannot sleep at night without hearing George Floyd’s voice call, “Mama!” Friends, I’m serious. It keeps me awake at night. I think it is supposed to…

George, I hear you! This mama hears you!

Mamas, everywhere, you have the power to stop this. RISE MAMAS! You givers of life! You protectors! Eradicate institutionalized racism and dismantle systems of oppression one child at a time.

WOMAN, you hold the power of tomorrow at your breast. No system, no institution, no political affiliation, no army, not a single government in the world has more power than you.

RISE UP AND USE IT!

”Mama”
Alonzo and Me
1997
New Braunfels, Texas

A Call to Arms

Mothers-

Embrace the children of the world. Love them. Hold them close and tell them the truth: They are brothers and sisters, and the whole wide world is their home. Tell the truth to the children: They are citizens of humanity, not limited to town or country. Tell them that their name is Tomorrow, born of their father Yesterday and their mother Today.

”Mural on Nostrand”
Brooklyn Junction
Flatbush: Little Haiti
Brooklyn, New York

Woman-

Tell the truth to the children and release them. Finally. For they do not belong to you, nor you to them. Damn the lie! The division! Let them go. Let them take their places in the great big human family. Let them heal one another.

”Mural on Nostrand”
Brooklyn Junction
Flatbush: Little Haiti
Brooklyn, New York

Sisters-

Go now. Tell the truth to the children: All that really matters is love. Day by day, Sisters, one by one, by way of each precious child, give birth to a whole new story.

”Mural on Nostrand”
Brooklyn Junction
Flatbush: Little Haiti
Brooklyn, New York

Daughters-

Stand. Sound the battle cry, a call to loving arms! May we tell the truth to the children until our very own arms, our enduring embrace, become the only protection, the only defense, that humanity ever really needs…

”Mural on Nostrand”
Brooklyn Junction
Flatbush: Little Haiti
Brooklyn, New York

ONWARD!