I Want To Be Someone

During The Gulf War, I Remember Two Little Third Grade Girls Saying To Me - After I Read Them Some Poems By Writers In Iraq - 'you Know, We Never Thought About There Being Children In Iraq Before.' And I Thought, 'well Those Poems Did Their Job, Because Now They'll Think About Everything A Little Bit Differently.'

For You Who Came So Far; For You Who Held Out, Wearing A Black Scarf To Signify Grief; For You Who Believe True Love Can Find You Amidst This Atlas Of Tears Linking One Town To Its Own Memory Of Mortar, When It Was Still A Dream To Be Built And People Moved There, Believing, And Someone With Sky And Birds In His Heart Said This Would Be A Good Place For A Park.

Because Sometimes I Live In A Hurricane Of Words And Not One Of Them Can Save Me.

Later Our Dreams Begin Catching Fire Around The Edges, They Burn Like Paper, We Wake With Our Hands Full Of Ash.

If A Teacher Told Me To Revise, I Thought That Meant My Writing Was A Broken-down Car That Needed To Go To The Repair Shop. I Felt Insulted. I Didn't Realize The Teacher Was Saying, 'make It Shine. It's Worth It.' Now I See Revision As A Beautiful Word Of Hope. It's A New Vision Of Something. It Means You Don't Have To Be Perfect The First Time. What A Relief!