remember . . .

 how we used to make pies and go to the beach and dream of opening children's art museums

 how we used to worry about what to wear for Halloween and how to incorporate the van

 back before we all woke up . . . and looked around with startled eyes at this mess of a world

 before we built bikes for missions. . .  backseats to buckets. . . to memorials. . . fuck Columbus

 before we flew disposable flags for freedom. . . bedsheets for dreamers . . .

 before we all thought about the police killing our uncles. . . on the streets. . . for being deaf

 all i ever wanted to do was move to the country and look at trees and not these wars and deaths

 shake the grit outta my shoes and ride along dirt roads and playground gardens with ducks

 decide which type of crumble to feed the hens. . . hold acorns and walnuts in my hands and hers

stare with wonder at waves in greens and greys and towering clouds and spray before i ever used the word Bourgie. . .

NE!L~