i get up with the birds
their incessant rant 
about truth
drives me to wake
if you listen to them carefully
you will hear thunder and peace

dear puppy
who sleeps with her little nose
buried under a pillow
curled up in a tight little ball
dear dog
who wags her bum in my face
every time i
come through the door
dear ella
who thinks she rules the universe
who snorts and begs and then snorts again
and smells like the river where she runs
dear ella
my conscience and my heart
keep humanity safe today

horizon
looming, bold
catching reflections
of moments past
reaching towards
invisible stars and
constellations of ancient memories
comfortably seated at the table
of life
constant, regardless
irreverent beauty
discourse of the unknown
she awakens

the second last sip
the very best against my lips
the taunt of desire
the foreboding pleasure
the truth of addiction
the second last sip 

a black woman, a janitor in a school
Monday to Friday
a housekeeper in a massive hotel every weekend
working 7 days a week
to feed her children
who still knows how to smile, to dance, to sing
I met a new goddess warrior today
and together we are going to change the world

I am inspired by reading this painful and telling story....I'm a white girl with loads of privilege who happened to get a glimpse of the real world when I entered the world of social work. I emerged from the cocoon, a pretty butterfly in an ugly, ugly world. I actually remember the exact moment that I became aware that I was not like 'everyone else'. I remember discovering that I was to blame for the suffering in the world. I first discovered the little people 'in africa'.....that far away 'country'....we sent them money and had their pictures pasted on our fridge, so that every time I grabbed a glass of whatever I wanted, I would think of them. good old Christian charity. my first days working in the grouphome, I was shocked by what I saw. kids, just years younger than me, abused by a system that perpetrated the very abuse they had been subject to in their home. these kids, full of life and love and energy and desire, dumped on a doorstep by caring adults who didn't know any better. I still talk to some of those kids. brave warriors of life. and I carried their stories into the reservations. I am still sorry that when I tried to make sure that those kids stayed with their parents that it wasn't meant to be. I still sit with their mom on the corner of dundas and Richmond and just say 'fuck a duck' as we both sink into our vices. I am sad and I am sorry and I hope that what I have learned will manifest in the hearts of my children so this history will never be repeated.

amen

i had a dream.
not a mlk dream but a dream.
my mother was there and she told me to keep going.
in life, my mother never said these words.
she was always afraid of what i might do or where i might go.
she was always afraid.
i made her very sad, angry and worried.
i broke every single one of her rules.
every single one and then a few she hadn't thought up yet.
and she loved me through all of it.
and in this dream,
she told me to keep going.
keep going.
keep going.
keep going.
and i will believe in my mom in her death, like i never believed in her life.