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Race

My MFA program offered me the opportunity to work with several amazing writers. I was pointed to text after text and told, “Read. Learn.” I did. The more I read, the more I wrote. I experienced the world through authors who challenged. Their topics were race, place, institution, thought… Every piece struck a chord with me. Some works resonate on a much deeper level. Gil Scott Heron’s “Whitey on the Moon” (actually shared with me by my husband), is one such piece. If you haven’t read it, please click the

One of the ways I defined myself in middle school was writing timed, rhymed poetry on a topic chosen by a peer. Me classmates considered it something of a superpower- a handy party trick I could pull out at a moment’s notice, often using the topic itself as an acronym that began each line. They would then take a copy of the poem for themselves, sometimes even place bets on whether or not I could complete a piece, say, on leprechauns in three minutes. I earned my fair share of

  Hey guess what. I’m gonna dream out loud and if you don’t like the sound you can stuff those sausage fingers in your ears and roll. I’m something. You said otherwise. I’m something. I am. I am. I will be. You had a meaty mouth and big ideas, but I was a skinny little girl near the mile marker of a hot asphalt trail up in rich land where the white people grew poison-free tomatoes in their back yards and venomous grass out front I used to sprint past

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