"There is no greater agony than bearing an untold story inside you." – Maya Angelou
i hope i don’t forget: how you changed the pronunciation of banana to bonana and called coins “points”. how obsessed you were over hamsters, wanting to watch them go through mazes, wanting to check out so many books about them, and asking to be one for Halloween. how you questioned why I was brushing my... Continue Reading →
Last fall, I wrote this poem called "when my grandchildren ask me" in a workshop led by poet jessica care moore. The imagery from the poem has been revisiting me this fall as an educator in a post George Floyd era in addition to being in the middle of a presidential election and global pandemic.... Continue Reading →
when i look at our family tree, it seems safe to say that the only similarity i am confident of is this: generation after generation, our tears are in the same language.
we brought you home from the hospital on your second day of life. i sat in the gliding chair in my room with you cradled like a football in my lap; your dad read a new book to your sister on the bed next to us. i complained that i didn’t understand how to position... Continue Reading →
it might have something to do with my literature degree, but i tend to search for meaning even when meaning doesn't want to be found. when i discovered my pregnancy with you, i must have turned the volume up on whatever sense i carry with me that seeks out the moments in life that are... Continue Reading →
there isn't a section of greeting cards for: reaching out to your estranged adult child or estranged adult parent. am i left to select a message that could also be given to a cancer patient, a widow, a friend you haven't heard from in a while? should i select a landscape scene or a small... Continue Reading →
i hope i don't forget: how you omitted the a, and called those colored ovals of helium "bloons". how you put your ear on my stomach and told me that your brother loves our family. how you thought the sinks at my work got smaller, but really you grew. how you demonstrated the way you... Continue Reading →
i am starting to understand why we can't figure out how to love each other. you are my wound; and i am yours.
why does it feel like a perverted game of chutes and ladders to be a member of a subordinate group in this country where you climb and you climb and you climb, only to reach the top and see the faces of a brotherhood of white, christian men mock you as you stumble however many... Continue Reading →
When I watch her swing or dance or laugh or live her best life, I pray to myself, that if she chooses to have her own children one day, she can hold them in her arms, kiss their foreheads, and hope they have a childhood like hers.
bekah noble 