0:00
I always try to get my students to understand  that you have a voice and that you should use  
0:06
that voice. I think the reason art matters is  art enhances our lives. Art is a reflection  
0:14
of our reality and how we see it, and I think  that's really important in this whole thing of  
0:20
being human. We're always trying to find  what the question is about life. What is  
0:24
life all about? And a lot of times it's  just about us being here and understanding  
0:30
each other, and I think art does that  or gives us those aspects to do that.  
0:34
That's all we're trying to do as writers is  to give you insight into the human condition,  
0:42
and the human condition is all around us. I can  write a play about that. I can write a poem about  
0:48
that. I can write a fiction story about that. I  can do a movie or whatever to address the voice  
0:55
that I feel needs to be represented because maybe  that voice is marginalizedc and no one's listening  
1:02
to that voice or has heard that voice before.  Now I'm the one who's representing that. So this  
1:08
poem came about when I was taking my oversized  comforter that couldn't fit in my Maytag to the  
1:18
laundromat because it was too big, and doing that  I had to hug the comforter because it's so big,  
1:23
and it's all in front of my face and you know I'm  just trudging with it after getting out of my car,  
1:30
bringing it into the laundromat, and it starts  the snow, and the snow is flaking on me and the  
1:36
comforter, and this transports me to my little  sister when we were about I may be seven so she's  
1:44
got to be three or four. It just was kind of that  thing, where like when you hear music, so there's  
1:53
a song that you love and you hear it for the  first time and anytime you hear it after that,  
1:59
it transports you right back to where you were.  It's always kind of one of those situations,  
2:05
and it's called "A comforter, a Monday, and  little bodies." The snow deputized Monday's  
2:12
moodiness. Crunch by crunch under boots under an  overcast firmament. My parka and gloves asked if  
2:21
I was warm. Mmhmm. The comforter, too much  for my Maytag got pelted with parachuting,  
2:30
slow-mo, white angels falling to Earth like ash  from chimneys. A Catholic lip balm if in stigmata.  
2:39
A Papal remembrance. Nothing like religion to hold  us hostage. Something mean about gas showers made  
2:48
me shake my head. War, with its blotches. I hugged  comforter tighter before breaking threshold of  
2:56
laundromat, transformed back to little carrying my  smaller sister through projects. We, cold. Breath,  
3:05
cloudy. I, big brother, made her laugh to forget  winter thrashing at her exposed nose and lips,  
3:13
to forget projects. I had no compulsion for  shape-shifting then. She was a sparkling,  
3:22
little planet around my neck. A smile I hated to  see cry. Something that frightened me, how parents  
3:29
lose their ish when the screen door shuts, and  we the children are on fire outside. No threats,  
3:37
other than Mother Nature, pushing us back  towards home before other threats could pounce,  
3:44
but big bros crowd little sisters. I knew nothing  of balance that a multitude of feathers can hold  
3:51
some weight. I was fledgling too. "You watch the  back. I got the front. Ok?" "Ok," she boomeranged  
4:00
back, in little girl. "Nothing but a bunch of  snow!" She laughed. I shook her body. She laughed  
4:06
harder. In little bits, a comforter brought us  back. Ghetto-kids shlepping through winds wanting  
4:13
to capture the heat from childhood. Now my sister  lives in Austin. Doesn't care to listen to January  
4:21
sass. Is it because I'm not sludging Mama's baby  in a bear-hug through winter to get us home?  
4:30
No, her dreams grew hungrier. She just  learned new ways to taste survival.