As part of my daily practice, I write something everyday. Today this came tumbling tumbling out:
Her: Mom, I need a word that starts with B.
Mom: Baracuda? Bob? Bacon? Begun?
Her: Bravado? Bliss? Barrage? Bare?
Mom: (I wonder, how long until she shies away from gentle tap lipped B because one day someone will inevitably call her that word and she won’t have floor to ceiling windows, perfect roof, or palm trees to reshape her focus) Beam? Board? Build? Bungalow?
Her: I like that one … -alow low low …sounds like a song.
After reading it over a few times, I realized that I’ve been pondering my intersections for quite some time. Not only that, I realize that I work to teach my students how to identify the places where their identities intersect and write from that place, thereby making space for their individual narratives. This is an act of revolution.
“and when we speak we are afraid
our words will not be heard
but when we are silent
we are still afraid
So it is better to speak
we were never meant to survive”- Audre Lorde