Energy Is Everything. Rubbing Happy And Sad

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.

We All Find Ourselves Involved In Projects Or Activities That Confound Us-when Or Why Did I Say I Would Do This? What Was I Thinking? I Needed A Poem For Myself That Said-pause Longer. Think Again.

My Mother Used To Tell Me When I Went Somewhere, "please Leave Your Foolishness At Home." But How Could I Do That? It Was Stuck On Me.

I'm Writing Mostly To Thank You For Living You Eighty Years And To Tell You I Love You And Think Of You Often.

I Want To Be Someone Making Music/with My Coming.