this is not my life anymore
by Wanda Coleman

it belongs to the two moreno tots with starcrossed eyes
feet like mine and wavy brown hair

it belongs to the widow who lives alone behind bars black
enough to resist crack addicts and petty larcenists

it belongs to the woman in Chicago whose cacography reveals
fear of white doctors and whiter walls

it belongs to the mulatto guitarist who dreams of being
knighted by the queen in his next sleep

it belongs to the manchild who wears my frown

~~~

Wanda Coleman's poem always makes me ask myself, "Am I really living? Or just getting by?"

It's easy to get caught into a cycle of just putting one foot in front of the other. Familial responsibilities, financial concerns, life...all manage to get in the way of striving to do what you REALLY want to do in life. As women we tend to mother everyone before we stop to take care of ourselves. Until recently, I've been too tired to do many of the things I really enjoy. For one, I haven't been writing as much as I'd like. I've just been too tired to allow the ideas to flow. Soon the tiredness numbs my want to write, and nothing gets written. Sad.

Lately, I've sort of snapped out of it. Perhaps it's because the end of the school year is in sight (8 weeks!), and I'm not AS tired at the end of each day. My classes are sort of on autopilot, working on projects and presentations, and much of my energy is not spent on directly teaching, but rather facilitating the process. It's a nice switch and it's presented me with more energy and more time to think about other things beside work. And I don't plan on squandering it.

This weekend, instead of falling into the comforting lull of procrastination, I actually worked on a few creative project I've been neglecting. It felt good to actually be in motion on something that relates to ME and what I want to do, not just tending to others. Of course, life will not allow me to be completely selfish, I am somebody's mommy after all. But I've definitely gotten my second wind.


Blog fam,
Are you living your life or just getting by?

I was late to the game, but I have become aware of the power of Twitter and other social networking sites. I am very fickle when it comes to the internet (can't you tell?). Sometimes I blog like a maniac, and others, I disappear for a while. Lately I've been on twitter hardcore (sorta), and it's produced some promising benefits.

Many of you know that I received a pink slip from my school district. From time to time I bring it up on twitter. Friday, I received a message from a woman asking if I was looking for a teaching position. Innocent enough, right? Well, she's a principal at a local charter school and we began talking, and she's agreed to forward my resume to several of her colleagues. Score.

Another opportunity has presented itself through one of my blog friends. I've been toying with the idea of starting another project (a website) that would highlight the works of people I dig. In my heart of hearts, I want to write. I love to write, but I'm lazy. But I've come to realize that being lazy doesn't yield any sort of results I'm cool with, so I must move. Anyway, the fabulous LoveBabz, connected me to one of her sista-friends, author & Yale history Professor, Jennifer Baszile. Hopefully I will be able to catch up with her at the LA Times Festival of Books and ask her a few questions about her new book, writing, compare notes on growing up in Southern California (stay tuned).

We all know that networking is one of the keys to accomplishing your goals, but until recently, I wasn't making the most of the entirety of my network. In these uncertain economical times, it's gonna take the largest network possible to stay afloat. And I'm just happy I've got some great people in mine.

Newt is angry,                     so
what else is new? Obama
plays nice with others
                                    thankfully

~~
just a quick note.

you can catch me blogging today over at MyBrownBaby. i am discussing the GOP "outrage" over the niceties President Obama extended to Hugo Chavez, and how my 3 year old son can teach the GOP a few things about manners.

check it out & please comment.
thanks!

i am tired and oh so hot. the temp was nearly 100 degrees today and my classroom doesn't have A/C. yes, it was torture. but we made it. by 6th period all the kids were tired and cranky, and i really couldn't blame them.

i have been slacking on putting up some of the poems for National Poetry Month. Forgive me. I am posting a new poem (just wrote it lol) as well as a poem from LoveBabz. please stop by her blog, listen to her radio show, and show her some love. she's a great woman.

peace

~~~~~~

i need a glass of shiraz
merlot and a margarita
i need a massage
an ice cream cone
a glass of ice
water washing over my skin

i need a beach
secluded and gleaming sand
free of hurt
or reminders of

today
i need a hug
or cool hand
brushing against smooth skin
and lips

i need to feel
bliss and reckless abandon
to do
whatever
i choose


(c) 2009, me.
~~~~

HE LIKES FAST WOMEN
by LoveBabz


A Porsche…

Easy to handle he says…
And yet they are constantly:
        Sleek...high maintenance…shallow…unreliable….

He longs for substance…

Something that can handle his driving style:

      Size matters…

Rolls Royce is never the obvious choice….

Classic lines… understated elegance….stability... a real pleasure to handle…
      Sure 0-60 in 5 sec is fast…

But when you slip behind the wheel of real luxury…hand crafted…butter soft interior
You no longer remember why fast was ever any good….


Grown women do not convince men that fast cars are …well, just fast…

Grown men have to want:
        Built for comfort…not for speed.



* want to submit your poem to be featured on this blog? email me. theprisonerswife at gmail dot com. peace.

the break-up muse



        matched
mis
words strewn
lying heavily on your tongue

i don’t understand
your needs
       unmet
mine

       alone
we
love in the trenches

(c) me, 2003

~~~
last week i spent three days with beloved. we hadn't seen each other since we rang in the new year and he was itching to see me. truth be told, i was ok with not making the trip, but i knew that our visitings are already few and far between.

before our trip i was feeling kinda uninspired by our relationship. we slipped into the dangerous lull of taking each other for granted. afterall, we live totally separate, but connected, lives. he is constantly on alert, dealing with the harsh realities of being locked up, unable to really be free. and i am just dealing with the day-to-day mundaneness of raising a child, working, and trying to keep my head above water. it has been so easy for me to detach myself from OUR life together. not that my love for him had been diminished, but it has certainly been forced to take a back seat to other parts of life.

but last week...good lord, the air was still damp with new snow, the sun somehow broke through, and once again i was greeted by love, my love. we talked, we shared meals, and we breathed in the solace of each other. it was like a reunion that helped to put our relationship into perspective again, to light the fire again.

and now i miss him.

i haven't really ached in a while. i haven't really, really missed him in a while. i've learned to control the missing. learned to put my feelings on the back burner just to make it through each day. but after seeing him, breathing him, i'm once again left feeling...everything.

blessing the boats
by Lucille Clifton

(at St. Mary's)

may the tide
that is entering even now
the lip of our understanding
carry you out
beyond the face of fear
may you kiss
the wind then turn from it
certain that it will
love your back may you
open your eyes to water
water waving forever
and may you in your innocence
sail through this to that

~*~

Happy Easter y'all.
peace.



*Want your poetry featured on this blog for National Poetry Month? Email me. Theprisonerswife at gmail dot com.

Hands
by Susan

We are lovely shades of raisins and hazelnut
and coffee-milk brown. We belong
to different decades but we share the same span-
same hands and the same fingers connect us.
Sometimes we clench our fists and boil inside.
Other times flushed palms reach out,
enfolding us one to the other.

~*~
last week i asked you to send me your poems so that we can share them for National Poetry Month. Susan, of the blog Black-Eyed Susan, was kind enough to share some of her words with me. the poem, "Hands" was inspired by her daughter who just celebrated her birthday.

if you'd like to participate, please email me your poem(s) with a link back to your site (or short bio if you don't have a blog). peace & enjoy.

Homage to My Hips
by Lucille Clifton

these hips are big hips.
they need space to
move around in.
they don't fit into little
petty places. these hips
are free hips.
they don't like to be held back.
these hips have never been enslaved,
they go where they want to go
they do what they want to do.
these hips are mighty hips.
these hips are magic hips.
i have known them
to put a spell on a man and
spin him like a top
~~~

Michelle Obama has forced America (and the world) to openly pay tribute to the beauty and style of a (dark-skinned) Black woman. Yes, there have been several black women held up as "sexy" or beautiful, but typically those women are entertainers or professional athletes, and have not garnered half as much admiration as the new first lady. Mrs. Obama is neither entertainer nor athlete. She is a mom, wife, ivy-league educated attorney, and fierce.

As the world celebrates a new view of of American beauty, the rest of us are left to grapple with what Mrs. O means in relation to the historical view of Black women. For years we were seen as mere chattel, commodities, or as exotics. Will the adoration Michelle Obama is receiving change the way Black women are portrayed in the American media? Will we finally be seen as more than just a "big butt and smile"?

I was invited to take part in an interesting podcast hosted by my girl, M.Dot and tomorrow we will be discussing the dynamics of Michelle Obama and the Black Female Body . Please listen & call in to share your thoughts.

i.can't.wait.

Listen Live on BlogTalkRadio tomorrow at 6pm Est (3pm PST)
Call in (347) 843-4723

last year i did a series of posts about National Poetry Month & had fun waxing poetic about words. it's that time of year again, and this year i'm looking forward to not only sharing more of my poems, but also highlighting the works of others.

i have always wanted to run my own literary mag/press, but have continuously slacked off on this goal. i've had a few shots, been involved with a few defunct literary projects and collectives, but never quite got my own ideas off the ground. well, this month, i will be making my dreams come true (sorta). for this year's National Poetry Month i'm asking you, yes YOU (the reader) to share some of your poems with me, so that i can share them on this blog. my goal is to post a few poems (either my own, yours, or more notable poets) each week, lending this blog over to one of my loves...words.

so get your pens & PCs ready and email your words along with a short bio & link to your site (if you have one) to theprisonerswife at gmail dot com.

i look forward to reading your words.


note: check out the homie Stephen Bess' blog. he's just released his first collection of poetry, Liquid Lunch. check it out.

today, a student called me a bitch.

this isn't unusual in an urban classroom, but this time, instead of whispering it to my back, she said it LOUDLY, where EVERYONE could hear. it was as if all the kids were shocked and starred at us to see what i'd do. would i jump across the room, snatch her up and shake some sense into her? (thought about it). would i curse her out and tell her where to go ? (thought about that, too). but i did neither. i calmly asked her to step into the hall, then proceeded to give her a good tongue-lashing before i sent her to the dean's office. but honestly, i was stunned. not by her calling me a bitch, but at how easily (and loudly) the words flowed from her twelve-year-old lips. bitch.

i rarely use that word. i'm not comfortable with calling other women/girls bitches, even if they are mean/evil/insert whatever word here. i just don't. i wasn't raised hearing cursing in my house, even if it was going on outside my front door. i was raised with respect for ALL adults. so much so that even if i HATED that person, i would wait until i was alone to utter my muffled curses. my students...apparently aren't learning the same lessons at home.

i am so completely frustrated, and at the same time, sad for my students. they are growing up in a culture of failure. they are taught, either at home or by the media, that being cool or hard or pretty will be enough to get them through. when in all actuality, being smart and knowing how to treat people is key. many of my students curse like sailors. curse like they learned it in a book. some curse better than they speak "standard" English. it's so easy for me to write them off. easy for me to say, "see, their parents aren't raising them right," but even some of the "good" kids are falling victim to this false sense of what's important. but it's deeper than that.

as my job teeters on the brink of uncertainty, my state is spending billions more on prison funding, while dropping to 47th in the country on per pupil spending. so while the state claims it is broke and must cut the education budget and are laying off teachers, which will increase the sizes of classes and make each student get even less attention, we are increasing funding for those youths who will, because they aren't engaged/able to get the attention they need, drop out and end up in prison.

say what?

the fight for our kids isn't fair. while we work HARD, it always seems like the game is rigged. i know that i can only control what happens within the four walls of my classroom. i know that no matter what attitudes, problems, issues, or deficiencies my students come with, it is up to me to put all of that aside and prepare them for what will come.

it's hard. and i'm tired, but tomorrow i will get up and do it all over again.

so i received a pink slip.

well, it wasn't exactly pink, but it stung nonetheless. myself, along with 11 of my co-workers and nearly 8900 teachers, received layoff notices from our school district last week. apparently, we're broke. we're about $720 million in the rears and they are looking for ways to balance the budget. the notices have been deemed precautionary, but it's still very disheartening. I’m not sure how they expect us to come to work everyday, motivated, when we don't know if we'll even have a job come summer.

i am writing this as i wait for parent conferences to begin. i am once again, here, putting in lots of work on my students' behalf, but with even less certainty, and i admit, motivation. it's hard to stay motivated, to struggle with some students, to care SO much about them, when your employer doesn't seem to care about you.

are any of you feeling the economic pinch? i wasn't really phased by it until now. now i'm wondering if i'll have to go back to corporate america, and if so, will a job even exist?

Obama's in my hood & i wish i could have gone. i wonder if he has any REAL answers for teachers...cuz right now, we can't cling to "hope."

everyone has a story to tell...

and i have several, but have been holding them hostage. this is the first of many episodes of me sharing some of my fictional experiments with you. enjoy. and please, leave me your thoughts. my first real episode.

Listen to this episode (<~~click to listen)



peace

("why you wanna go and do that?"
remember that joint? Q-Tip. LOVED it!)

so tomorrow is thursday, and i spent the better part of today (who am i kidding?), i spent the WHOLE day at home...loving it. my voice, or lack there of, gave me an excuse to play hooky from work. i mean, it's hard to work an urban classroom with no voice, so i fell back. being home ALWAYS, ALWAYS, ALWAYS makes me miss not being here full time.

when i first had the munchkin and was on maternity leave i absolutely dreaded going back to work. i searched high and low for something i could do from home, but who was i kidding, i needed the stability of my job. beloved had just gotten locked up, and we didn't know what we were looking at. so i did the grown-woman thing, and put my needs/wants last.

i can't really say that i LOVE teaching. there are things that i love about it, things that i hate, and things that frustrate the hell out of me, but overall? do i feel like it's my "calling", my "true passion"? not so much. i mean, i totally see myself teaching is SOME capacity, but not middle school. at the end of this year i am going to start searching for a gig at a high school. perhaps slightly older students will bring a welcomed change and give me some new perspective. i shouldn't dread going to work. not that i DREAD it, but i should be looking forward to it.

don't get me wrong, i'm thankful i have a job and i don't treat my students as if they are just a pay check. even though i'm not happy every single day, i still realize the weight of my job. there are things they need to know before stepping out of my classroom, and i break my neck to make sure they learn them.

but am i happy?

beloved's appeal was denied.

my life has been somewhat on hold for the better part of 3 years, waiting to find out what will come of this situation. now we know. we now know that we have 9 summers to prepare for his homecoming. and i now know that i can push play while we continue to wait.

i have been putting off a lot of things in beloved's absence. i have been so available to him, so willing to put my needs on hold to make sure we are able to see him regularly. flying out to see him is very expensive, but necessary. our son, now aware that beloved IS his dad, asks about him more and more. every time the phone rings he asks "is that daddy?" and he's even told me he wants to go to the airport, so we can see daddy. it causes me to smile, and at the same time feel a bit of sadness. but it's up to us, beloved and i, to make sure this little boy has everything, feels loved, and knows that, no matter what, we will be here for him.

these words are starting to feel a bit...defiant? no, i am not leaving beloved. quite the opposite. i am stepping out and becoming the woman that i need to be to carry this weight. to be the mother, the wife, that experiences and appreciates life, so that i can love even more fully.

i went to see a Realtor last week. this was another thing i have been putting it off in the hopes the appeal would come through. but i went to see her, and despite my doubts, it is possible for me to buy a home (i've even talked to the loan guy). so that is my focus right now. for now, we will stay put on the West coast. it's just easier. my family is here, i have a network of people i know i can call on to watch the munchkin, and my job is here. perhaps in a few years, as the munchkin grows older and needs to see his dad more often, we will head east. but for now, i am focusing on buying a home.

i am no longer putting our lives on pause. i am going to live for today, and plan for tomorrow. i will experience all that i can & love harder and more deeply.
~*~

today i am taking the munchkin to his gymnastics class, then i'm meeting up with my co-worker to see Danny Hoch's one-man show, Taking Over. i'm excited.

i hope y'all have a great day & weekend!

i have been trying
to leave you for years. alone
now shoulders heavy

weight like sunrise. far
to go. we opposite. love
harder. in spite of all       things

stay pushing ahead
daily struggling to keep
above hopelessness

we fight for this life
this right to touch fingertips
anew. we grow, old.


(c) me. 2009.

today was a bad day.

and that's saying a whole lot, considering i don't have "bad days" (i'm a diehard optimist). but today came really close. it started off innocently enough. i've actually been getting to work eariler than normal. i made copies, dropped off tech equipment to my coworkers (i'm in charge of it), and then proceeded to our weekly team meeting. when my teaching day started, period 2, i was prepared, my students were engaged and we actually got through a pretty good lesson. i was being observed & i think i'll have a good report.

then it fell apart *insert ominous, overly dramatic movie music* it was time for my 3rd & 4th period, my intervention group.

my intervention class is a challenge everyday. in this class, i aim to help kids who are functioning far below grade-level (like 2nd or 3rd grade reading level) rise to meet the state standards. not only are we faced with academic challenges, many of my students are, uh, a tad touched. several of them have been having behavioral problems since elementary school and have carried the same mentality to middle school. it's literally a struggle. i come with lots of positivity, and the more positive i am, the crazier they can be. i'm sorta at a loss as to how to reach ALL of them. today, one student, a girl, FLIPPED out on a male student and it took 2 adults (myself included) to try to keep her away/off of him. now, we aren't supposed to touch students, but i don't allow anybody to get beat up on in my room. so, while we are attempting to restrain her (and believe me, she's STRONG), the rest of the students are hyping up the situation, damn near screaming "fight, fight," like this was some sort of gladiator match. i dunno. teaching is one thing, i got that, but my students need holistic services--mental, emotional, educational--that just cannot be served by me alone.

we constantly hear about the deterioration of our schools and the achievement gap for black and latino students, but no one is addressing their issues. everything cannot and will not be solved through Shakespeare and algebra. these kids need coping skills. they need to know how to deal with their emotions. they need to learn how to make sound choices and avoid the bullshit. otherwise, they will be lost. and then what will we do?

monday came loudly
pushing weekend hard like i
belong to him, alone

not ready. buzzer
rings anyway. damn. too early
to be out, workin'

bell rings. students scat.
leaving notes, books, brains open
pour as much and fill.

traffic sucks. badu
sings me home, tranquil, though horns
blaze loudly through night

air fresh like new rain
poured over the city. repeat.
routine. day breaks soon.


~*~
(c) me, 2009. read.savor.repeat.

"So after a horrendous ordeal my wife felt it better to end our lives and why leave our children in someone's else's hands, in addition it seems Kiaser Permanente want's us to kill ourselves and take our family with us. They did nothing to the manager who stated such, and did not attempt to assist us in the matter, knowing we have no job and 5 children under 8 years with no place to go. So here we are."

~from the Suicide letter of Ervin Lupoe

i always wonder what would make a person take their own life. when i was in college, a friend of mine shot herself after finding out she was pregnant. that shook me. made me wonder how someone can get so blinded by the present that they are unable to see the options just around the corner. i mean, i know life can get very dark, but there is always daybreak after a storm.

on Monday, 60,000 jobs evaporated and Ervin Lupoe, a local man, killed his entire family. he shot each of his five children (all under 8 years old), his wife, and finally took his own life after calling 911. he was driven to this dismal fate by the job losses of both he and his wife. the Lupoes were deep in debt, broke and desperate. bad combination.

when things like this occur i always try to put myself in the other person's head. when my friend killed herself, i couldn't fathom ending my life over something that could be resolved. i mean, you always have options. and with this--the murder-suicide--no matter how deep the debt, the children didn't deserve to die. they could have been adopted or raised by relatives, or their parents could have gotten their shit together and worked their way out of debt. there are always options. always.

the economy is hard on us all. my employer just authorized the layoff of nearly 3000 teachers due to the lack of state funding. as a new teacher, one of those lost jobs could be mine. no matter what happens though, i am blessed to have perspective and the wherewithal to know that even when times get tough, i'll come out alright in the end.

i wonder, if this recession will drive up the suicide rate. i wonder how the loss of jobs and lack of funding for social services will affect the crime rate. i wonder if people will have the foresight to realize that no matter what, tomorrow is a new day with a new set of options. i'm not sure what the next year will bring, but i'm hopeful that we'll all come out on top, eventually.

Compton.

Even if you’re not from Los Angeles, you’ve heard the stories. NWA put this tiny city on the map. Documented its violence and gangs as if it was as our own little Baghdad. Compton, The CPT, has been synonymous with fear for as long as I can remember. Growing up in South-Central Los Angeles, I wasn’t unaccustomed to violence. Echoing gunshots, helicopters, barking rottweilers, and yellow police tape were not foreign to me. When I was 10 there was a man murdered right in front of our house, my dad washed away his blood. But when someone mentioned we had to go to Compton—for any reason—I was shook.

Although Compton is tiny, their reputation looms large. Ten miles hosts 100,000 people and 65 different gangs. Their murder rate has been out of control for years, but last year it dropped, aided by stronger community policing efforts. The LA Times noted that the drop in the murder rate is due in part to “pairing aggressive enforcement with programs designed to improve the relationship between the community and the cops.” They contrasted this new approach, which to me makes logical sense, with that of the hard-hitting tactics of the 1980s, when gangs and crack exploded in LA. They write,

It is a stark contrast to the 1980s, when area law enforcement agencies launched a gang crackdown that resembled a military operation, destroying any semblance of a relationship between the agencies and the communities they served.

Since Ryan took command of the Compton station two years ago, the number of Explorer Scouts has risen from eight to 25, that of station volunteers from 10 to 55, and reserve deputies from just one previously to eight. Neighborhood Watch and business watch programs are popping up all over town.

The department runs the Compton Youth Activities League in a former National Guard armory, and about 150 kids come each month for after-school programs. Almost all have a close relative in prison, officials said, and many have been removed from their families and placed in the foster care system. (read the article here)

Compton seems to be getting it right. Things are far from perfect. People are still being killed, and property crimes are up as of late which can be attributed to the horrible economic situation, but a stolen car is better than a stolen life any day.

I am hopeful for Compton. A lot of my students live in and around Compton and in neighborhoods like I grew up in. When I was growing up, we had a blatant suspicion of the police. They were not our friends; they didn’t live in our neighborhood, nor know our names. This suspicion, and even hated, of police has continued. Any time I speak with my students about the law or police or how their actions may affect them in the future, they express an apparent disdain for police, for many reasons that signal a lack of mutual respect and relationships.

The key to combating any problem is relationships. Whether it’s teachers building trusting and respectful relationships with their students, or parents building relationships with their children, you cannot get anyone to buy into your cause without first building a relationship with them. I am amazed that more communities, especially urban communities, have not followed the community-policing model. Instead of investing money in ways to house more inmates, our communities should be investing in more neighborhood programs that prevent people from turning to crime. After-school programs, job training programs, and educational programs all work; yet they are the first to be abandoned when a budget crisis arises. Why is that? Why do we allow our neediest residents to be relegated to a subpar life?

As we stand on the shores of change and are all still tingling from President Obama’s inauguration, we cannot become complacent and feel as if he will take care of everything. There is so much work to be done. There are so many kids being lost to a cycle of prison, poverty, and hopelessness. Everyday I face my students hopeful that something I say or something we do will spark inside of them. I challenge you to do something, anything, that will help break the cycle our communities are stuck in.

What will you do?

i am still hyped. today was an amazingly emotional day. i knew it would be deep, knew we were seeing something that few ever expected to happen so soon (if at all), and i didn't think i'd do it, but i cried. yep, cried. right there in my classroom when one of my students asked me how this event made me feel. i couldn't get my answer out. starting talking about my grandmother, and arkansas, and jim crow, and then tears made the words stick to the corners of my throat. my students were shocked. a few of them started crying when they saw my tears. and then it happened...

one student, who is distantly related to me, started to give her testimony and i felt like i was at some sort of youth revival. y'all she began talking about her life. how she was taken away from her grandmother (my grandmother's cousin) and now lives in a group home. how she's been abused and nearly been raped since being in the group home. how she has nothing left but her sister because she chose to fight and cut school and stay out late, instead of go to school. she urged her peers to be thankful. she told them to run home and thank their parents for their support. told them to get their education. begged them to do so. she told the class her mother is an addict & is currently in prison, wanting back in her life, but she won't allow it. she told us she wouldn't allow her mom back in her life because she left her with her grandmother at 2-months old and she's tired of people leaving her.

my.head.was.blown.

i couldn't even speak when she was done. thankfully the bell saved us all, and i dismissed the class (barely). i couldn't even wrap my brain around what had just occurred. between the inauguration and her comments, i cried like a baby in the solace of my classroom.

ever since then i have been trying to get my head around what the Obama presidency really means. not just to America, but to my students. to the kids in the trenches with no one at home. what does Obama mean to the kids who have nothing, not even hope to cling to? i've been struggling to make this moment relevant to my students in a deeper way than just being happy he's the first Black president. i mean, that's great, but i want them to trust and believe that anything they put their mind and energy to can come to past. i want them to know that they are valuable and worthy of the dreams they keep tucked deep inside themselves.

but so far...i am at a loss. i am still trying to deal with today's events. i do know this...it cannot stop here. we cannot be happy just having him in office. we have been called to serve, to question, to criticize. and for the first time, i am truly excited about my country and its possibilities.


how did you spend the day? what are your thoughts going forward?