Work. Breath. Voice. Death. Life. Poetry.

I was a vocal coach today. At Jack Straw productions, here in Seattle. For high school students, all from other countries, all learning English. They had written poems, in their classes, with a poet/teaching artist leading them. Poems about their homes.

Homes in Afghanistan. Russia. Vietnam. Romania. Iraq.

Poems about their lives. Uprooted lives, begun on one continent and now unfolding on another.

Poems about their friends. Dead friends. Friends, killed by bombs.

Poems about their homes, what they missed. The roses in their gardens. The stuffed animals in their rooms.

Poems about religion. Poems about bombs. Poems about their favorite foods.

And I got to stand next to them as they read, in the recording studio, and help them. Help them articulate, pace, communicate. Breathe. That was my job today. I am blessed, on days like this, to get to do this work. I am blessed.

My life has been so easy. So unbelievably, unmistakably EASY. Help me to always and forever know this, to remain in gratitude and humility. Easy.





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