Being Good Felt Like A Heavy Coat,

I Grew Up In St. Louis In A Tiny House Full Of Large Music - Mahalia Jackson And Marian Anderson Singing Majestically On The Stereo, My German-american Mother Fingering 'the Lost Chord' On The Piano As Golden Light Sank Through Trees, My Palestinian Father Trilling In Arabic In The Shower Each Dawn.

Sometimes There’s No One To Listen To What You Really Might Like To Say At A Certain Moment. The Paper Always Listens.

I Have Always Loved The Gaps, The Spaces Between Things, As Much As The Things. I Love Staring, Pondering, Mulling, Puttering. I Love The Times When Someone Or Something Is Late-there's That Rich Possibility Of Noticing More, In The Meantimepoetry Calls Us To Pause. There Is So Much We Overlook, While The Abundance Around Us Continues To Shimmer, On Its Own.

You Know, Those Of Us Who Leave Our Homes In The Morning And Expect To Find Them There When We Go Back - It's Hard For Us To Understand What The Experience Of A Refugee Might Be Like.

What Did Exclusivity Ever Have To Offer But A Distorted, Unrealistic View Of The World? People Who Stuck Only To Their Own Kind Were Scared People.