Towers Falling

When asked a question, class, it's important to consider how it's framed. Sometimes a question is a door to another question, another way of seeing. Understanding.

Home. It's where we come from. Who we are.

The words strike like they never did before. Before words were flat. Now I hear them - understand in a new way.

Home is our starting point for connecting to the past.

Last year, even my best friend, Keisha, stopped speaking to me when my family became homeless.

I hope the teacher doesn't say, 'Write an essay about your summer vacation.' If she does, I'll leave the paper blank. Else I'll have to lie. Say eviction is the best vacation. Hearing Ma weeping and Pa wheezing, cracking his knuckles while Leda sucks her pacifier, double-time, and Ray holds my hand. I never lie. I won't. It's better to keep quiet.

My pop didn't go to war, but he's been disappearing just the same.

I may not fully understand how, but the towers falling is also a part of my history.

I feel sorry for all those people in the planes and towers who were expecting an ordinary day.

That’s our journey this month. Figuring it all out. Home is our starting point for connecting to the past.

The hardest word for me to say is please. Being poor, you've sometimes got to ask for stuff - food, toothpaste, even soap. I don't want to ask anybody for anything.