Vision+Voice

How long has it been
3 weeks 3 years?
I’m starting to lose hope
My wood is breaking
My wool is separating
Have they forgotten me
Worse, have they forgotten the memories?
I remember when Alessandra fell when she was five
And when Patrick went too fast when he was six
Wait what is that?
Have they come to play with me!
Ooh what’s Goodwill?
There goes the long lost memories.

four incandescent bulbs
strung from the tree canopy
provided the only light needed
to see our bubble bordered by a fence:
too high to look over
but not high enough to block the sounds.
time spent watching the bulbs
sway in the wind
shiver in the snow
sing in the rain
passed…

four became three as one filament,
a delicate filament strung perfectly
and wound carefully,
burst into sparks
with one brittle touch
as one does in these times

One wave
“Are women maybe human beings?”
The right to vote
Susan B. Anthony and Ida B. Wells
Elizabeth Cady Stanton and Seneca Falls
1920, 19th amendment
Two waves
The Feminine Mystique
Equal Pay Act
Jane Roe won her case in 1973
Credit cards and mortgages
The problem that has no name
Three waves
27 women in Congress
Riot Grrrl Manifesto
Punk rockers fighting against sexual harassment
Bikini Kill, Bratmobile, Breeders
Bragging, screaming
They want revolution
So do I
Four waves
#MeToo
Intersectionality
Equity? Equality? Both
Gen Z knows what’s up
I dress how I want
10 Ways to Make Sure You’re Safe in an Über
Emma Watson, The Squad
Speak up, speak out

Out of the darkness, I rise.
I am hope.
Out of the evil, I rise.
I am hope.
Singing my song, sweet as nectar to the ear, I fly to you
on silent wings with streaks of white and gold.
I glimmer like the northern lights on a cloudless night.
I touch your heart and give you peace.
For even in times of despair, I am hope.

Summer is like falling from the Sky,
it iS fun while it laStS,
But it endS too Soon.

The Summer rain and the hot Sun,
make me happy,
I love the Sound of rain,
and the warmth of the Sun.

Summer iS a roller coaSter,
upS and downS,
family firSt but School comeS too Soon.

I had a box of my own
It was blue and purple
Mismatched
a map on the wall
I played board games inside its walls
I read Jane austin on the floor
I painted
I got taller
I grew up
didn’t have an excuse
for staying in my room
work for beauty
Work for approval
Growing up is hard
Leaving your box is hard
I paint flower fields
Purples and yellows
Fields of rolling green
But those are paintings
You can burn paintings
You can burn novels
The words forever no more
Your childhood can’t burn
Your brain cannot forget
But my box burns along with everything inside
A match lights and my palace falls
My sanctuary
My room
Paintings can char
My flower fields wilt
the ash builds up in my lungs
Perfect is not enough
Never
Forever
Always
Pick your poison
to ignore the inevitable
Growing up

Cracked clay on the warm concrete
Sweat drips from the hammer
The clay moves to a bucket
The bucket holds water and clay
Slowly it becomes just clay

Walk on stones back to your house
Your clay swung around your arm
Roll it into a cylinder
Make the legs
Then the body, the ears
Mouth
Eyes

Score his body and put him together
Bring him to the fire
Wait.
.
.
.
Now he’s done
Only grazing at your desk
He lives in your room
Watching you grow
Everchanging
a piece of pottery
He’s always there
Right up until he’s knocked off
Ears break
Tails snap
Tears fall

And our cow goes back to the warm concrete
To be broken again

Softball, the only
Place its okay to steal

When life throws
You a curveball swing

There’s nothing soft
About it.It just leaves
A bigger bruise

4 bases, 3 strikes,
2 teams,1 winner

Play hard