Every day the same
Clouds and fog roll in and out
Teasing with glimpses of light
Tide ebbs and flows
Flooded then not
Steps like quicksand
Sinking

Do I want to know what day it is?
If I do, I will know
it’s one more day without you

But if I
Don’t move past the grey
Then maybe I can stand still in time
Lost in the mist
And be with you
Just an hour, a minute a second
Longer
With you.

Robin,

I know you don’t hear it often, but I want to thank you for returning to your passion for writing, decades after your last creative piece. With encouragement from your writer friends, writing workshops, and positive feedback, you found your groove and your purpose. You are creating with empathy, sharing your words with isolated seniors and searching for other opportunities to use your words to help others feel seen and heard. But sometimes you take too much on and put pressure on yourself to create. So I wrote this poem for us.

I want to caress
My hand on your face
Rest your head
My touch is your pillow
Comforting

You have a lot on your mind
Place them in my palm
For now
And I’ll toss them into the ocean
For now

Serene slumber is what you need
A pause and quiet thoughts to ease
I’ll watch over you while you’re sleeping
And keep you safe

Thank you again for finding a place for your words that hopefully make a difference in the world for the better. Keep going, but remember to take time for yourself too. I love you.

With Appreciation,

To the little girl next door,

There weren’t many kids on our block, but I knew you existed on the other side of that old wooden fence. I was a rough and tumble tomboy that played with my brothers and you had your little sister to play with. One day, I saw you peer around the fence while I was sitting on my front porch steps. I smiled and waved. You waved back. We asked each other’s name. I recalled your little doll with tangled blonde hair.

We began playing every day, then every other day until we no longer played. I didn’t know why, we just stopped. And I went back to playing with my brothers.

Years later, I brought you up in a conversation with one of my brothers, wondering why we just stopped playing. He looked at me curiously. “You don’t remember? Her Mom said she couldn’t play with you anymore because you’re not Black.” That blew me away. To this day, I still wonder if I was so traumatized that I erased it from my memory. I wasn’t angry; I was perplexed. Not only was I shunned because of my brown skin; my family was faced with many adversities; an anomaly in a neighborhood with only a few Asian households.

I think that was the moment that formed my want of connectedness and understanding of differences in opinions and beliefs. And It was summed up when I came upon this quote from Rumi:

“Out beyond ideas of wrongdoing and rightdoing, there is a field. I’ll meet you there.” -Rumi

In that instance, I wanted to have a conversation. It had to be something more than not being Black. I wanted to know more. I wanted us to come to an understanding of each other and form a connection. That’s how I move through life now and a significant amount of my writing comes from a place of empathy.

Little girl, if you would indulge me for a moment, I’d like to share a poem that I wrote. In my career, I worked in human resources and conducted exit interviews. In this particular organization, I noticed the same word came up; silos. The repeated concern resulted in individual offices not being open to collaboration, even though the collaboration would be a positive push towards the organization’s overall mission. This led me to create the following poem:

Silos
Towering into the blue sky
Seen from afar on a country road
What do you hold?
Contained in concrete countenance
Are we the same but cannot speak?
What if we opened the doors
And let the grain spill out
What a beautiful mess
Feeding all that stop and wonder
Let’s talk

After I wrote this, I came to the realization that this wasn’t just about a particular organization’s communication problem. It’s bigger than that. This is about what is going on in the world today; deep seated religious beliefs, political dissension…divisiveness.

“Out beyond ideas of wrongdoing and rightdoing…”

Little girl next door, I’m not mad at you or your Mom.
I just wish we could’ve had a convo, but turns out rejection turned into catapulting me into the world, with a hunger to understand and the need for finding what connects us and not divides us, with meaningful respectful conversation.

Be well, little girl next door. I hope you are safe and doing fine in life.
Maybe someday, we’ll see the same field.

“I’ll meet you there.”