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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 30

Though recent temperatures spring forward to summer, let us not forget ’tis the season to be blooming. In other words, it’s spring time! One of my two favorite seasons—autumn being my favorite pick. All seasons bring a little magic. Autumn and spring bring falling petals or leaves.

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Flower petals aren’t petrified of gravity; instead, they take pleasure in the journey. They let gentle wind and rain carry them. And it’s such a beautiful, slow, cotton-scent waltz.

I think of their journey in the same way Andrea Gibson thinks of autumn: “the leaves are falling, and they’re falling like they’re falling in love with the ground.” Leaves turn into petals, into love.

Love. Love must be a shade of red. A pink, a blush, perhaps. A rose petal on someone’s cheeks. A soft petal on the ground. So lonely and brave, until it fades and becomes the nothing of a something. A something like a season. Impermanent. Glorious.

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