#2: A Love Letter to Ava
How do you do it?
How do you capture us
In all our hues and shades
Coloring us in so we are full
Sometimes it feels like our story
Is one long length of hardship
Re shaping itself into teardrops
But you shift that tide
Until we are riding waves of joy
When I look at your art
I see my great-great-grandfather
Born to slaves cum sharecroppers
Who sat with me and marveled at how I could read
At only 4
His face etched with lines like Cager Lee
Who couldn't vote until he was 84
I followed Maye as she waded through
The detritus of a loved one's life
And felt beaten down my own choices and
Fears writ large back at me
Staring into a picture of yourself
Scarily accurate and challenging
And not flinching
Thank you for that reflection
Adrift in the middle of nowhere
But buoyed by quiet moments
Bus rides across well-worn miles
Your art is the blessing of knowing you're not alone
Sometimes it is frustrating
Feeling as if nothing changes
The same images recycling us
Like we have no nuance or distinction
Running on the hamster wheel
A never ending winter of our discontent
Your art feels like spring buds
Reaching for sun rays on a cold day
A newness that puts our lives onscreen
In full technicolor and HD
Nothing is dimmed, dulled, or daunting
You show me the unwavering wholeness of myself
And I cannot turn away
In all our hues and shades
Coloring us in so we are full
Sometimes it feels like our story
Is one long length of hardship
Re shaping itself into teardrops
But you shift that tide
Until we are riding waves of joy
When I look at your art
I see my great-great-grandfather
Born to slaves cum sharecroppers
Who sat with me and marveled at how I could read
At only 4
His face etched with lines like Cager Lee
Who couldn't vote until he was 84
I followed Maye as she waded through
The detritus of a loved one's life
And felt beaten down my own choices and
Fears writ large back at me
Staring into a picture of yourself
Scarily accurate and challenging
And not flinching
Thank you for that reflection
Adrift in the middle of nowhere
But buoyed by quiet moments
Bus rides across well-worn miles
Your art is the blessing of knowing you're not alone
Sometimes it is frustrating
Feeling as if nothing changes
The same images recycling us
Like we have no nuance or distinction
Running on the hamster wheel
A never ending winter of our discontent
Your art feels like spring buds
Reaching for sun rays on a cold day
A newness that puts our lives onscreen
In full technicolor and HD
Nothing is dimmed, dulled, or daunting
You show me the unwavering wholeness of myself
And I cannot turn away
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