With Thanks to @kwamealexander for His Work, His Inspiration, & All That Is Still to Come. Looking Forward to Today's Writing Our Lives Workshop with @dphelps1113

Before the was even a single written word, there were poems and chants...rhymes and songs...about births and deaths...marriages and battles...Our people would gather around a central fire...and listen to the storyteller. ~ Kwame Alexander, The Door of No Return, (p. 341)

Gina

She texts a message,  

of poetry, an invitation,

this psychologist, 

mother of two,

working to enhance

minds, to help them to grow,

to honor history,

and to offer

the opportunity to 

the young people

 to write. 

Kanye

sends me a text

asking what I'm doing.

He'll be a father soon...

so many years away from

being 15 when he disappeared

from high school

only to show up on Mt. Pleasant

7 years later wanting to talk,

needing to heal....

to learn how to feel.

I tell him I'm rereading 

Kwame's new book

and share the title.

You're always reading 

that guy.

He knows

Cape Coast Castle.

He knew

the stories. 

The shores. 

The door.

Ampain.

Krisan.

Darius

I met him through the book of faces,

this scholar & poet

who heals in self-archeology

of words, who teaches 

the minds of younger souls

about language, storytelling,

and the rhythm and flow

that arrives from 

moving proudly in 

loud silence, & 

I wonder if 

Writing Our Lives

may open another door.

Prudence Crandall

I knew of this teacher, 

this school for young ladies

in Canterbury, Connecticut, 

offering knowledge to a few

before they came at her

with severed cats

to scare her away.

Through her

I met a brother 

who was tried

by the Star Spangled Banner,

before I realized

I was taught 

to sing out of key

since the beginning,

being taught not to ask

questions that 

would lead me

to today.

Kwame

writes these books

that children have always needed

- the joyful crowing from 

Roosters with guitars

and frogs that surf...

... the bond of twins, 

basketball or soccer,

and the way narratives

make sense 

when sung in 

a chorus of wisdom.

I can't help but

think back to teaching 

at the Brown School,

corner of 1st 

& Muhammad Ali,

knowing his becoming

would one day 

iinfluence my own.

Edem

He sees the book

I'm reading for the 

second time & says

I've been there - to 

the door in Ghana. 

It was near the 

refugee camp

where I lived

before I came

here. Met you. 

We knew its history,

going elsewhere

beyond.

He was once 15 

now he's 31, 

making his way

one job at a time

in this land of 

chaos, education,

and hope.

Marcelle

knew that community,

opportunities for young people

to gather as writers,

countered the many 

stories written about youth

that wouldn'tcouldn'tshouldn't

through  weekend

festivals for 

these young poets,

artists, and doers

that began to make the world 

a better place. 

How could I not be

wrapped in purple?

Royalty? The brilliance

of the sisterhood...

...the brotherhood...

that helped lead the way

to such work today.

Mark

a cousin

who began hooping

with hope in 

Zimbabwe,

skills 4 life, 

teaching me

the art of being

an intellectual

Robin Hood

of living

the philosophy of

Ubuntu.

Community

is a poem,

the braiding of words

that play on a.m. 

radio.

I am, because we are,

and listening to The Great Whatever

how could the 

be inspired?

these adolescents

in a new country

learning how

to become the sun.

Today

we write. 

We dive head first

into the magic box

to rhyme, play,

make meaning, 

and carry forward

the story.

This gift of Mpatapo

bound in a 

flight of

language

that many 

have helped

me to sing.

We dive in.

And we fly.

Looking forward to the workshops ahead.