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    Spring backward. #photoaday #flowerstagram #firstdayofspring #spring #lastofwinter ❄️❤️ So yesterday, I ran a poetry workshop at a middle school and hearing the words from these youth, I feel a lot better about the world. One boy wrote a poem & was very shy about reading it. I offered to read it for him. To my surprise, he wrote about people wanting freedom and not being “illegal.” I hope he finds the courage some day to read the poem because these days, hate voices itself louder than love. Our kids deserve better role models. I didn’t grow up thinking about my immigration status, but I think many children have to now. 💔I’m at a very low point in my hope bank. I’m taking notes on how to say goodbye to a country. I think one way is love and one way is poetry.
#loveislouder #happyworldpoetryday This Sunday I made it to church at a Unitarian Universalist congregation. I arrived as a panelist for an immigration and human rights discussion. My audience was majority White. I started with a poem and then my college journey narrative. It is a heavy feeling to be a person who potentially faces deportation or undocumented status and to stand in front of an audience that though sympathetic, cannot imagine what your world is like. They listened to me and the other panelists very actively. One of the panelists, Klara Bilgin, showed us this poster-size cover of Time magazine’s March issue with her own addition “Why America?” At the end I was surprised that most people had comments rather than questions. When we say immigration is a controversial issue or a “hot topic,” it’s true. I got to see it today by people commenting on their experience traveling abroad without borders or their observations of how much labor is expected of undocumented immigrants. Many of them were proposing solutions. I wish Congress were as productive as these people were in their 15 or so minutes to comment and ask questions. #rageatCongress #votesmart #speakup Little sister poem. Be woke.❤️ #ajamonet #poem
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1,000 miles: step 19

From poet Chad Anderson’s  “Like Math”:

And I said, “Words, what are words when I love you like math?”
And she said, “Like math, is that how you think you love me?
You love me like….”
I said, “I love you like math,
Infinite and exact…”

Most days, the word hate isn’t in my vocabulary, mostly because I’m not quite sure I have ever understood the sentiment. And yet, I have uttered the phrase “Math, how I hate thee” (or something among those lines) far more than anything nice about math. Up until this semester, I couldn’t imagine how I would ever get along with math.

Though hate hasn’t kept me away from mathematics, but an inability to work several math problems step-by-step, on my own. I never met math at the finish line; we met halfway (like the Black Eyed Peas).

At Simon’s Rock, one semester of math was enough, and after many stumbles, I lived through Elementary Functions. Over a year later, I face Elementary Functions again, this time under the name of Pre-Calculus. And if Pre-Calculus and Claudia manage to become close to buddies, maybe Calculus will be my next scholastic friend.

But that another math follows is for certain, as certain as is the notion that this semester, math is finally remembering my name–or rather, I get it! This semester, I’m learning to hush the English major’s nagging voice to over-complicate the numbers and instead use the visualization perspective. My math sessions are filled with color, outlined by reasoning, and collaboration from my study group–and the occasional hysterical out-bursting.

No one ever told me talking out math could make people giggle. No one ever said, “Hey, the way you explained that makes sense. You should be a teacher.” And that’s where the occasional hysterical out-bursting of the day arrived.

I eagerly wait for the future days in which I teach not the logic of numbers, but the logic of expression…. or well, whatever logic poetry follows.

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