Situations 15

Situations 15 Writings from the AIDS Service Center NYC Creative Writing Workshop spring 2013

Situations 15 Situations is a literary magazine containing the writings of participants in the Creative Writing Workshop at ASCNYC.

Workshop Leader & Situations Editor: Gerry Gomez Pearlberg

The ASCNYC Creative Writing Workshop promotes medication adherence, stress reduction, sustained recovery from substance abuse, and healthy behaviors by offering a forum for self-awareness, social engagement, empowerment, and self-expression among persons living with and affected

by HIV/AIDS.

Publication Design: Talo Kawasaki

The ASCNYC Creative Writing Workshop is funded by a grant from the Ryan White HIV/AIDS Treatment Extension Act of 2009 - Part A, through the New York City Department of Health to Public Health Solutions; and a grant from the Phil Zwickler Charitable and Memorial Foundation. The printing of Situations was made possible by the generous support of the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention and the Substance Abuse and Mental Health Services Administration. ASCNYC extends its thanks to each of these funding sources for demonstrating the vision and commitment to support creative programming for people living with and affected by HIV/AIDS. ASCNYC helps thousands of men and women affected by AIDS and other chronic illnesses get the second chance they need to take charge of their health and reclaim their lives.

Since 1990, ASCNYC has been designing and implementing innovative peer education, access to healthcare, and safepractice counseling services that foster self-respect, personal responsibility and connection to community. We annually help more than 14,000 NYC residents make positive changes toward self-sufficiency. ASCNYC has four Community Centers in Union Square, Washington Heights, East Harlem, and the Lower East Side. All ASCNYC services are free, confidential, and offered in English, Spanish and French/ Haitian Creole.

© 2013 by AIDS Service Center NYC, 41 East 11th Street, New York, NY 10003 All rights revert to the authors upon publication.

Author Photos: David Nager ASCNYC Poetry Leaders: Rufino Colón, Rosa Velez, and Robert E. Lee ASCNYC Program Liaison: Ramona Cummings ASCNYC Executive Director/CEO: Sharen Duke Special thanks to: Brooke Brailey, Rebecca O’Neill, and Randi Zwickler

Contents Introduction

4

Poems by monté

5

Poems by Linda Francis

7

Poems by Benjamin Vines

9

Poems by Rosa Velez

11

Poems by W. Christopher

13

Poems by “E” (a.k.a. EROBOS)

15

Poems by Ashley Johnson

17

Poems by Steve Lewis (a.k.a. Latin Gorilla)

18

Poem by Ruben Medina

21

Poems by i.a

22

Poems by Donald Terrell

24

Poems by Grace (a.k.a. Poetic)

25

Poems by Kevin

26

Poems by Tracye Wroten

27

Poems by D.H.

28

Poems by John Pinkney

29

Poems by L. Murphy

31

Poem by Robert E. Lee

33

Poem by Dudley Koonce

35

Poems by Luther Jarman

37

Poems by Rufino Colón

40

Poems by Iris Elizabeth Sankey-Lewis

41

Introduction Recently, I asked the members of the ASCNYC Creative Writing Workshop to jot down a word or phrase representing their thoughts about the role of poetry and creative expression in their lives. Here’s a sampling of their responses: Power.

Healing.

Cleansing.

Heart-delighting.

Freedom.

Self-discovery.

Beauty in motion.

A summer’s buzz that runs through my soul.

The replies to my question were as varied as the styles and substance of the poems you’ll find in this, our 15th issue of Situations.

The participants’ responses capture the fundamental purpose of the ASCNYC Creative Writing Workshop, which is to offer a contemplative and vibrant space for exploration, reflection, and self-expression.

By partaking of the weekly opportunity to read, write, and talk about poetry together, the workshop’s participants reinforce their own efforts toward recovery, health maintenance, and overall wellbeing. Their poems reflect these journeys with clarity and courage.

The poems in these pages cover enormous ground: addiction, HIV, familial issues, aging, neighborhood life, friendship, philosophy, love, loss, the pleasures of reading, self-reinvention—and yes, the transformative potential of poetry itself.

Inventiveness and “making things new again” are what poetry is all about. I hope, as you read the wonderful poems by the 22 poets included here, you’ll find plenty to be inspired by.

Gerry Gomez Pearlberg Workshop Leader

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Poems by

monté

EACH MORNING

BREATHE DEEP

Upon waking, I slowly stretch To thank my God. I’m still thanking God during my preparations for the day: I make sure I have something for my menagerie.

My menagerie consists of the cat from the basement the birds from the trees and the squirrels that bring me to my knees.

Once again, I thank my God.

If I close my eyes

I know you like a flock of butterflies caught under my shirt like when the coaster approaches the crest of the climb more like the drop that follows like first-time stage fright

UNTITLED I’ve decided They didn’t know a thing Back in 1987 When I went for the results Of a test that would change…

Change my occupation Change my associations Change my language Change my perspective— I spent years Taking what my virus Dealt out: the pneumonias the thrushes

the weight loss and skin eruptions After gaining control of this— 25 years in the making— I still say, They didn’t know a thing.

2013—I got this.

I’m changing my occupation my associations my language my perspective

like trying to suppress the blush trying not to smile when you first come into view I hate the way my heart skips a beat a beat a beat.

BURIED DEEP It sometimes rises to the surface when I’ve loosened the reins Sometimes I bury it so deep stuffed way down so no one sees or takes notice Tough and tumultuous experiences have taught me well But I long for a time when I can be truly free Feeling, loving, loving that feeling Pleasure so sweet you think it hurts It takes your breath away

Allow me to reintroduce myself: I’m M—the Great and Powerful.

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Poems by

monté UNTITLED From the very beginning I can remember being told “You’re ugly, you ain’t going to be nothing, and you don’t love me…”

Somewhere along the way I took on the search or the quest to prove them wrong.

Early on, I learned how to garner the attention and response I desired.

I learned I could move like not many others could— Honed it, showcased it, Whenever and wherever I could.

But then, come to think of it, I’m still searching.

MY BEST IS YET TO COME I can remember getting up Saturday mornings getting the change out of my piggy-bank then down to the five-and-dime (that’s what we called Woolworth’s back then), a treasure-trove where you could find anything— to the candy counter where it lights up my eyes ten cents’ worth of button candy, Squirrel Nut, Chick-O-Sticks…

25¢ worth of potato chips 25¢ worth of pretzels (to be mixed later)…

Head to the movie theatre on the next corner— 99¢ got you a newsreel, two cartoons, and the feature film.

Before entering, I’d stop at the concession stand mixing my chips and pretzels and applying some mustard.

Picking a seat in the middle, I’d settle in for the time of my life.

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Poems by

Linda Francis IT MADE MY DAY! Every day on my way to the A train, I encountered this lady and an injured cat in front of the bodega.

I asked her, why does she go into the store and buy a can of cat food for this particular cat? She told me that she was at the scene one day when this man turned his pit bull loose and that the animal bit most of the cat’s tail off and left the remainder of the tail looking raw.

I was overwhelmed with emotion when she said, “I would take this cat home with me, but I’m in a shelter.”

I was able to understand and sympathize with her even though I don’t even like cats on the whole.

BEAUTY OF THE SOUL Beauty of the soul—that was my mom.

She was a very generous, caring, loving and giving person who just wanted everybody to keep on living to the best of their ability.

She insisted on everyone being punctual.

Being on time meant a lot to her, not bothering with what may have been on your mind.

She took no sides, somewhat like the rising tides.

She refused to lie to you, even if what she had to say might make you want to cry.

She also believed that everyone should try to get along in harmony and try to glide through life like a rhyming song.

Her motto was, try, try, try—before we have to say our last good-byes.

SHE LIVED After she died this is what happened: my legs gave out at the cemetery they felt like jelly I was out of control my heart felt like it was going to give out.

I stared out my 8th floor window for hours on end.

I lost twenty pounds in a short period of time.

I almost fell in that hole but I was to fill in the dashes from 1918 to 2005.

I walked away all in one piece.

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Poems by

Linda Francis AGAIN AND AGAIN WITHOUT NOTICING IT I remember making $65 a week in 1965.

At that time, after I paid my rent, bought some food and clothing, I still had some money left over until I got paid again.

Thru the years I have welcomed the raises in my paycheck and Social Security benefits.

But then again, I didn’t look forward to the inevitable— that my rent would also go up, but after a while I didn’t notice it anymore.

Over the years I have grown so used to change that after awhile I don’t even notice it anymore.

But such is life: a little grey here, a little grey there, a little wrinkle here, a little brown line there— who even notices after a while?

I am so grateful to be able to reach up that high to touch that spot all by myself.

MY FREEDOM I could live almost anywhere!

I can go to any hospital or doctor that I want to.

I can to any school that my grades or GPA allow.

I can marry anybody I choose, regardless of their race or gender.

I can practice whatever religion I choose.

Thank God for the U.S.A.!

NIGHT TIME AT THE PONDEROSA This is the time when I let all my thoughts rest.

I treat this time as a test and I try to accomplish this at my honest-to-God’s best.

I let my body relax, usually by picking up something to read.

It could be a magazine, newspaper, or book.

Now I am ready for the next step of just closing my eyes to totally unwind.

I turn off the “restart” button and switch it over to “pause.”

Now I am at peace and blessed quietness, ready to take on whatever challenges I might have to face tomorrow.

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Poems by

Benjamin Vines DELIGHT This light is not bright, not as bright as I like it to be.

Let me open the shades so I can see more of what is around me.

And what of this show of the light which can be placed upon my space?

Seeps into my hall of life…

Where darkness prevails, we can lay in our beds like beached whales.

Candle light, daylight, artificial light.

Shining, spreading, providing warmth and much delight.

Starlight, star bright—most of the time the blinds shut tight.

Lying in my berth, embracing the dark of rest I wake up to be my best.

So these words on the concern of my delight— strung along as a rope or telephone cord— are the moonlight, daylight, nightlight, starlight of my soul’s delight.

ACTING LIKE A TREE I’m standing there just looking at me.

Looking in the mirror, my clothes just hanging off me as if I were some tree.

The first official day of winter is arriving— Winter is on my doorstep, spring is in my heart.

Christmas trees, Christmas parties, Christmas time, Christmas dinner.

Music being heard over this joyous yuletide herd.

A tree is a tree even when there’s no one climbing it.

A tree that grows in Brooklyn is bending so slightly.

Covered in snow that may turn into ice perhaps.

After, we are speaking about a phone tree, the tree of life, the learning tree. Or maybe the tree of the season.

So, as I leave my tree house, I remember I’m supposed to be acting like a tree.

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Poems by

Benjamin Vines I AM WAITING I am waiting for my number to be up.

And I’m waiting for the rebirth of a nation.

I am waiting for anyone to really discover time and wail.

And I am waiting for the discovery of a new symbolic medical frontier.

I am waiting for the American flag to really fly for all, and I am waiting for the Age of Aquarius to drop dead.

With everything being what it is, if I recall, weight broke the wagon down.

I’m remembering that I left the bus stop because of the anxiety of waiting upon its arrival.

As it passed me by, I just withered away.

If I only would’ve stayed in the waiting room…

I’m perpetually saying to myself, “Stay in the waiting.”

FOR MY SISTER, WHO IS LONG GONE I think of you from time to time And how we didn’t spend a lot of time.

Not your fault—more than likely mine.

I think since Red Hawk put you in my mind, I’m writing about you to you.

I’m writing in this discerning way because I’m reading a poem about domestic violence.

The father is crazy drunk and hands-on abusive.

Your death occurred after our father’s, but what a shock that I just didn’t make a time to pull the boat into the dock.

Love you much—can’t always give time time.

NIGHTS OVER EGYPT Down the up Nile.

Looking past Pharaoh’s smile.

Trekking thru the Valley of the Kings.

Seeking a cure for this dreaded disease of HIV/AIDS. Night in and night out in the pyramids of research.

We seek the exodus of long human suffering that brings fulfillment alongside that of the boy king Tutankhamen, for the Sphinx is a light in the night that always sits upright.

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Poems by

Rosa Velez MY HEART My heart, is seldom opened if I precipitate pain.

Closed— Shut—It’s going to stay.

Yes, it can be a red hot pepper.

Yes, it can be a quiet dark cave.

But… sometimes

this heart can be awakened, Awakened to such beauty, such love…

“Do I want to go there…?”

My heart is hibernating right now…

Oh,

My Quiet Heart!

WHAT’S LEFT OF US? What’s left of us when we rise to a world that’s no longer our world?

We try to be ourselves and “ourselves” are living within someone else’s shell.

What’s left of us when we try to change pain— the losses, the suffering— to something positive, something magical…

Yet the memories Take you back to….

Once upon a time.

Life is a fairytale.

We live our lives dangerously and we never seem to wake from the dreams…

What’s left of us when we still believe, once upon a time… all the time?

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Poems by

Rosa Velez THE DANCE OF LIFE When I was a little girl I wanted to be a ballet dancer Dreamed of dancing my way into the hearts Of souls.

I wanted to glide like a butterfly…

Gracefully.

Flying—opening my wings, To embrace my fellow dancers.

I wanted to hear the applause Of the audience In awe The bright lights The ultimate moment

Of total fulfillment.

I wanted to be daddy’s little girl.

I wanted him to be proud of me.

I wanted him to know that all the Qualities he instilled in me…

Were still there.

I wanted to be The perfect dancer.

Touching the lives Of everyone, everywhere.

And one day—you were gone.

You died— just like this stupid disease to take you away.

I slipped, I fell, I was no longer able to dance— Such a terrible dream.

For I thought if I could share for one more night Everyone would come back to see me dance.

When I slipped…

I was told I wouldn’t be able to dance Like before.

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But who said so?

For the dream dancer Never lets anyone stop her dancing.

I got up, Wiped a lot of tears And realized I was sent to stay for a reason.

And I danced to tell you how— For a dance is not a dance Until you have learnt to live— Yet the first step is a baby step Guiding you to better movements Trusting that even when we don’t feel like dancing, It’s okay.

It’s okay for the butterfly To retreat into the cocoon As long as in the springtime She comes out again And shares her beautiful colors.

Her beautiful dances For the last dance Is the one we never dare to dream.

If we can dare to dream We can show others how to dream.

And the dance will continue.

And so will the show.

The dance of life is the dance of the dream dancer.

Poems by

W. Christopher

INDIVIDUAL DIFFERENCES Why is diversity still about groups?

Aren’t we all unique, bearing a fingerprint— a singular code and chemistry like none other?

Why can’t we all be a group of one?

Looks to me like we’ve got one more hurdle to clear before we break the tape and win the race, by putting the groups to rest.

THE TRUTH IS SIMPLE It wouldn’t be fair if words of truth were able to transcend the smallest mind.

It wouldn’t be kind.

The truth is simple.

So please know, if the words that I speak cause your head to swim, they lie.

The truth is simple.

And if I have trouble getting my mind around something that you said, I know that a lie is stuck up in there somewhere.

The truth is simple.

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Poems by

W.Christopher

TEARS FOR LITTLE ME They came slowly pressed out like oil for the anointing of a prince.

I savored each salty drop then lowered my head and froze to feel the tingling band of warmth envelop me.

Then with an angel’s help I told the real truth about Little Me: A good kid— so cute and innocent.

Very smart and talented, too.

In two words… altogether lovable.

In a word… priceless.

I suspected it all along but didn’t dare give it voice.

And now that the truth is out I can breathe again— even live, again.

Never has salt been so sweet.

ON THE EVE OF DADDY’S DEATH I told him, “Good,” when He asked me how I was doing.

But something (or Someone) on the inside told me, tell him, “Real good.”

“Real good” opened up the way For civil—even loving—talk.

“Real good” was first met, however, with “That’s good. That’s all I needed to know.”

At the time, “That’s all I needed to know” flew over my head.

When the messengers arrived to accuse me— or so I thought—of my sin—yet again, they were both silent.

When asked if I would have a seat, my mouth spoke, “No,” though my heart echoed, “Yes.” With every “No” that I spoke, My heart echoed, “Yes.” They never did tell me that Daddy died.

Somehow, I knew. I just knew that peace was my only inheritance.

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Poems by

“E” (a.k.a. EROBOS) TO DESIRE To desire a better life, yet lacking the tools to do so…To desire to have children, yet lacking the motivation…like pets, it is a full-time job…To desire helping others, yet too busy saving myself…

To desire balance, yet lingering too long on one side of the scale…To desire a solution, not realizing that I already exist in one…To desire is not a strategy, like twin sister “Hope,” yet to desire…whatever, doesn’t need a reason, or a rationale, because we will desire anyway…Like the way rain falls… even though it is not needed…it will fall anyway…Like the way beautiful women paint their nails and war-paint their faces; because overkill is the way of vanity…better to have too much than just right…Desire is a worm sleeping in a warm body, content and complacent, knowing that its time will come…It is a 71, which is a 69, with two fingers in the ass…69…70, 71…Behold and Beware of the ones who try to run away from themselves…All sorts of illness, diseased outbursts, and reactionary emotions come from those who are not willing and being useless, derelict, all without evidence, are the varied fates that inescapably await us…We are obligated to accept this…and in turn, we become what is expected of us…it is the science of becoming a pet, Alex Jones’ Prison Planet…It is difficult to the extreme to make a better life for oneself when you are told at a most vulnerable age, when choice does not exist, “You ain’t shit…your daddy ain’t shit…and you ain’t gonna be shit either!!!”….We become the things we hate…The oppressed become the oppressors…

Our pets are the self-fulfilling prophecy…We full & fill ourselves up with toxic, self-denying, horrific ideas and beliefs, even when we learn better and even when we know there is a better way…Look into the eyes of your pet and let them know how much you love them and how important to you they are…Because, you are trapped in the cage of your choice…your wage slavery is complete…

Your pets have accepted the responsibility of saving your life….

“MY HEART” (AFTER NGUYEN CHI THIEN) My Heart is a palace of fore-closured promises, escapist angst, and inherited pain, my mother’s feelings are sewn into my gut…my genetics are the accumulated weakness of both my forbearers…a life unasked for…a liability unwanted… I must have got bored of Hell and found an escape route…

The harrowing journey from there to here created my Heart…My Heart is always a lesser of two evils…A demon possessed by its own ineptitude… I was born suspicious of the world…But the world got the last laugh…because the world is well seasoned in the more refined arts of betrayal…People are products of the world in which I live…Deceit is part and parcel of their forte…What am I to make of that? …What explanation would suffice that would satisfy my Heart?…My Heart is phenomena…My Heart is the universe trying to interpret and comprehend an experiment called “Life”…My Heart tries to do good; but every so often, I must say “no,” as my Heart still wouldn’t accept that there are ways to adjust and accept their desires…like the side effects of medication…these are not side effects, but rather a matter of course…Desire is the primary effect…Desire is the cup that runneth over… it is the urge that is insatiable…it is contrary to common sense, it is the smoker, the drunk, the addict, the wifebeater…common sense is not that common….it beats the Heart with a force and energy that is not human…indifferent to what we think or what we feel…I desire to be free…Do I really mean it…?

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Poems by

“E” (a.k.a. EROBOS) MY MOTHER (AFTER ROSSANA ROSADO) She is a hard woman…a woman of few words and many convictions…her priorities were outside of the house…her political positions could be considered radical…She knows herbs, and making a full meal out of thin air…My mother had enough time for the whole world, but not for what was under her own roof…Meeting her was always a new experience…It was like being introduced to somebody you should already know…She is a “do as I say, not as I do” type of woman…To hit her is like hitting a bucket of nails…There will be blood everywhere…Her breast milk was vinegar…I never tasted it…Her stare was more than a thousand yards….Her eyes were black coals that dared you to do something…They dared you to even say something….There is no peace in the valley when you break hers…We learn bullying from an early age… In retrospect, I can see that this was how she was made to learn…Her presence demanded that you pay attention, even as she paid tribute to her tribe(s) as Queen Mother…Her head, wrapped in the tradition of a Rasta woman, yet with too much pride to have a man lord it over her…She smoked weed, originally, for religious reasons, then for feel good reasons… then, just because. She is both past and present tense…She is a mystery, even unto me…Her skirt was made of a fabric called, “Do not touch me.”…As much as I push, fight, and struggle, I cannot be anybody else….

AFTER LOVE (AFTER DEREK WALCOTT) The greatest Love of all comes after ashes…comes after the tragic influence of attempting to be a carbon-copy of others’ beliefs…Harvest the results of an accumulation of defeats…My face is the reply to all the “love” that has been given to me…By the moment I can figure out the difference of what Love is, and what Love was; I am asking for the license-plate of that energy that has left me vulnerable, in pain, and askance…becoming more leery, cynical, and suspect…I have become an artful dodger… to be loved in New York City in the year 2013 is another way of saying, “What do you want from me?” Love is like getting shot with a vaccine…You don’t really know what it is, or what it’s going to do to you…you’re just going to have to take their word for it…The burden of existence is that Love is stalking me…resistance equals push-back in the form of Love being pissed off…Love knows its opposite…it knows how to manifest spite, enmity, and hatred…Love is a child that has the power to manipulate life itself…It will do what it wants, or else…like god…Love is guilty of using heavy-handed tactics…like god, it wants no other before it…like god, god is Love…to be merciful is supposed to be an act of Love…To be cruel, in order to be kind, is the greatest Love of all…Love is a toothache that will need an expert to be properly dealt with…Love hurts, because we try to make it our own…Love pities the fool, because fools in Love provide entertainment…My Love is stagnant, because it knows no bounds…After Love, there’s no love to be found….

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Poems by

Ashley Johnson GETTING BACK TO ZERO Getting Back To Zero—what does that mean?

Not to be judged by other people.

HIV doesn’t have a face, but people look and judge as if it does.

How do they know? How can they tell?

Getting Back To Zero—what does that mean?

When the deaths stop and the coffins are empty.

And the side effects of this disease no longer fade us away.

Getting Back To Zero—what does that mean?

When prevention is the word and cases of new infections are dropping.

Getting Back To Zero—what does that mean?

When HIV no longer has a grip on our community.

Getting Back To Zero. We’re not there yet….

WORKING THAT NIGHT LIFE As the sun goes down and the streets darken, dealers take their posts in the alleys and corners, selling the nickels & dimes of that hard white candy.

They give you the first hit for free, have you hooked back for more.

Before you know it, you’re broke with no money.

You offer to do favors for a rock or two.

Working that night life down the street where the night gets hot, the ladies of the night are the sirens of your money.

She does what you want for the price you can’t beat.

Through the window of your car you see her head bobble up and down.

Your face speaks: it was worth the money.

When her job is done, and her service is praised you pay her and drop her off where she say.

Workin’ that night life, another day another dollar, makin’ that money, being up for days. Smoking and drinking having sex with whoever I please—the street is calling my name… it’s hard to stop. The competition is getting heavy the spot is getting hot. Tricks are hard to come by when their funds are low….

Working that night life when the streets are cold.

When do you say, This street shit is getting old?

Tired of looking behind my shoulder, fear of the police, tired of nights without sleep.

Workin’ that night life was fun while it lasted but all it leads to is jail or a casket.

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Poems by

Steve Lewis (a.k.a. Latin Gorilla) DESIRA One day when One day when the skies open the sun shines and the birds sing.

One day when One day when Man will come to the understanding…

We are human and will learn from our mistakes. Shame.

One day when One day when, before we walk we will see, we will eat from the same dirt, come to the understanding from the same tree speak the same language kneel to the way of life…

One day when One day when I will see your smile at the crack of dawn, complete myself with your light, the warmth of your aura.

Never ending, forever.

Te Desira.

I AM A MAN Who am I? Who am I? I am him.

I am a man, born of an unforgivable birth.

I am a man, born into the world with no love or happiness.

I am a man who lives the best of life.

I am a man who spent most of my days On a modern-day plantation, within bars.

In am a man, a provider for his family.

I am a man who is no good for his own soul.

I am a man who has a love for life.

I am a man, a man who cries in the shadows alone.

I am a man of patience.

I am a man who prays for a better tomorrow.

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Steve Lewis (a.k.a. Latin Gorilla) I WROTE I remember the first time I pushed this pen in between these lines It was my thoughts of frustration Why had He forsaken me?

Allowing the man to place me on this modern-day plantation So I wrote while looking into the night At the stars so bright that would guide me home I wrote about dreams while playing in the belly of the beast I wrote about the animal within that people seen but didn’t understand Who was really a shy little boy that was not allowed to play.

I wrote about the passionate things I would do That nine times out of ten left me in the men’s room getting in touch with myself.

So now I write about today’s ignorances Of capers and stories of thugs from blocks How shorty bobs her head because she knows no better.

I write of my addiction Sex, drugs and Hip Hop I write to you and hopefully you would acknowledge me And hopefully they won’t understand Why I write.

I MISS YOU Here I go again…

I miss you… like day with no night

like a bird with no song

or an ocean with no fish I miss you… like a fat kid would miss cake like rice and beans and no pollo like a peanut butter sandwich and jelly sandwich and no bread like a Sunday morning breakfast of hominy grits with eggs and cheese and turkey sausage but no momma butter, milk, Bisquick.

I miss you… like a smile with no one to see like a tear with no one to cry for like a rose and no one to give it to— I miss you.

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Steve Lewis (a.k.a. Latin Gorilla) THANKS You, who the unseen allows me to view (That’s right, me.)

While in your pure illuminating state of blessings That he bathed you in Your fragrant intoxicating My soul weeps because you allow me to be the thought In your daily plan you write your secrets in Oh my sweet enchanting, Whose wings were clipped So I could walk beside you As an equal And you I. My heart praises the day of the 14th and the second month of the year At the same time, I curse the son of Venus For placing a hex on me By piercing my heart with his arrows That are dipped in Love Potion #9 That naked winged fairy?

Your smile reminds me of the loss I would lose If I didn’t praise him every time I looked into your eyes and said “Thanks.”

I also thank him for allowing me to embrace his creation At the dawn of light So I thank you, my Eternal soul.

I’M WAITING I’m waiting to wake up in a perfect world next to a perfect mate I’m waiting for the truth to be told right and JUST would take off the blinders over her eyes I am waiting for the man in the moon to stop laughing at me because I cry, due to the re-enactions since the beginning of life.

I am waiting for the understanding that blood is blue before red and that makes us all the same.

I am waiting.

P.S. As long as we have numbers, we will never be free.

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Poem by

Ruben Medina

REFLECTIONS One day I will be taller than I already feel.

To look in the mirror and discover the potential that lays dormant in my soul. To be a star in this drama called life.

I am both resident and keeper of my prison, physically and emotionally.

To one day discover that I can escape the drudgery of addiction and prison by believing and taking the first step to this journey of a thousand miles.

I will walk and hike through sobriety with the same tenacity I had when I ran and scrambled through addiction.

Today I learn to appreciate and love, but more divinely, to love myself.

To be wise…and know myself.

To be strong…and discipline myself.

To be confident…and assert myself.

And to be satisfied…please myself.

I am responsible for all debts and obligations in my life.

Past, present, and future.

I do not make amends to gratify you, but to rectify my wrongs.

If, in this process, forgiveness finds me, then blessed is the peace that turns my darkness into light, sadness into happiness, and death into life.

Today, I am one day closer to my beginning.

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Poems by

i.a.

One-life, timid, afraid, bruised, troubled, punished, worried, & alone.

They open the door. They know the truth. No other person is painting the steps where gifts are left untouched in the corner, the other end.

Crawl away from left-over voices & sighs of tremors down my spine.

Hands locked/fingers twitch.

Dragged, smacked, punched, & kicked 2 argue about this fear so hideous & forbidden—greeted me with hugs & kisses.

A must change of clothes, 2 a performance when limited x’s were forgetful threats of fairy tales. 2 never-ending final descents of beautiful days, late afternoons, soft-blue skies, curling waves.

There are thousands of us. Full of dark pasts, frustrations, cardboard boxes, selling our bodies, in rage wondering about human spirit.

No one, no single tear, no echo of screams spoke of the swollen bruises on jello-shaking bodies, of confessions unheard.

We are here.

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Angels in watch Distress in motion A view of a soldier from afar Amidst the shore of memories Angels watch 100 eyes A gathering of families & mothers 2 barely know them but they’re there Like they’re your own 2 see a man—a son Watching, looking, not in touch The echoes, flat-liners, & screams Afraid—the lights in the distance 2 be quiet Imagining birds, dolphins, jumping hills, tall trees, Watching Overseeing Angels Her urge to wake up Trying to be happy with the way she is He is accepted 2 accept that Angels watch Distress in motion Hearing music of hope She is free In sleep she now imagines

Poems by

i.a.

Travel near is the new far to know The woods Clarity to know where I live Civilization Without needing to see it Interpreting the form it takes A changed direction Can we assume that we can match it & it becomes applicable to the lives we live Renewal Can you know the forest Do you need to meet it personally Living fences An undeniably tough question Voices, screams, whispers, wonders rising, Hooves racing through leaves It became one being with a thousand voices Head back home, to another landscape that, until now, I barely knew But then I realize how isolated my life is & then I experience what it’s like to live on the other side I know I have at least 1 true place I search for such a place, to call home Where the darkness in corners are just an “Age” in place I must remain full of life This is not argument against following your heart to find your special place But I suggest that this revelation of threads comprises the fabric of our lives Holding me together I was not alone That haunting notion, a fragile sense of attachment A lack of ability to find meaning in the life that surrounds me.

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Poems by

Donald Terrell KNOW ONE’S SELF/ ROMANTIC OBSESSION Your life is one of many in too many ways.

The first is your mind, which controls the full body.

But when that goes, the rest will follow.

The second is your lovely heart, which is important.

When the entire soul is like a fire escape of balconies and your eyes are the complete window to an endless world of lost beings, confident deep within yourself, your true concerns of respect for your heart rise in motions that speak out into those who refuse to completely understand the right matters of one’s self.

It’s like an unavailable website that just won’t come up.

POETRY IS Poetry is a summer’s buzz that runs through my soul like flowing water like the true love I have for one with no name.

MEANING SKY Born without sight, traveling through the night As your feet walk in darkness And your heart is filled with fullness of sight Touching the inner parts of self As the brightness of your soul comes that one curtain of that dark night Which becomes that bright heart of love at night.

TRANSFORM ONE’S SOUL It’s a miracle enough to trace around the past, Then improve the real tones of the brain.

But naturally, the healthier the brain is, the more radiant.

So how must I redeem myself for the woman of my soul?

The snap of my broken heart is like the snap of a falling tree.

But within, the whole sleepless tone of one’s dark empty soul comes to light, a beautiful radiant heart of love and passion that shall make an honest connection with the departed ones— with their lost hearts and souls.

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Poems by

Grace (a.k.a. Poetic) LIFE What is Life?

Life is the air you breathe.

Life is the sun that shines.

Life is the moon that sets.

Life is the trees, the birds, and the sea.

Life is living ironic feelings, elevating.

You see, life is we, not just me.

Live, love, laugh, and leave— That’s the facts of Life.

A MOMENT AGO I could not tell dawn from dusk I would walk up I would walk down And yet I went nowhere In those moments everything Scared me, trees would move Birds would fly low over me.

At that moment I became Willing to be free from fear.

The sun shines, the sun sets, The moonlight is bright at night.

No longer will I fight or be afraid.

At this moment my life is alright and things are beautiful in my sight— at this moment.

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Poems by

Kevin

TIME Time has come. Day has turned away.

Life is good: the wind has shined in play.

Fun is just 4 me to stop at war.

Boys and girls are warm.

Fall is here, red is blue.

Time, time—and I miss you.

KEEP LIVING Don’t stop when they say, “Forget it.”

You keep going forward.

Look straight ahead.

Just ask God 4 help and need help.

Just don’t forget: Live. More. Better.

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Poems by

Tracye Wroten FOR SO LONG For so long I walked through life like a zombie For so long I have allowed my body and soul to be damaged For so long I have loitered in the fellowship rooms For so long I took my will back For all those days So long

WHAT A DAY Today I woke up with a song in my heart Thanking God for another day clean.

Yesterday this seemed impossible.

Can’t worry about tomorrow.

Oh boy— What a day.

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Poems by

D.H. WHATEVER HAPPENED As I walked into the house, she looked at me with an evil look on her face.

Hair straightened but kind of messy.

I said, “Can you help me, please?!”

She said, “Get out and don’t come back. Look at you.

You’re black—ugly just like your father.

You’ll never amount to nothing.

I wish you were never born. I hate you, you wimp.

Get out and don’t come back.”

FAMILY It’s always good to be with family through hard times and good times.

Laugh together, cry together. Rejoice together.

Family functions: taking pictures, laughing, dancing, kids running, talking about old times.

Yes, family, it’s always good to keep in touch.

WORDS CAN HURT YOU They say sticks and stones can break your bones, but my Mother and Grandmother hurt me.

They said things that in my wildest dreams I never thought would be said to me. Things I couldn’t believe.

Was it true?

Did I really want to believe it?

No! I did not.

But most of it did come true.

They abandoned me.

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Poems by

John Pinkney MEANWHILE You do not have to be happy or sad.

Meanwhile, smile—it’s a brighter day.

You do not have to walk on your hands and knees for a hundred miles to get a smile.

Just look in the mirror and you will see a smile.

Now do you see?

Meanwhile, let the soft animal of your body love when it loves you.

Tell me about your happiness and I will tell you about mine.

Meanwhile, the world goes on, the sun shines, the rain falls, and the breeze blows across the landscapes of love.

Meanwhile, smile.

The sky is blue, the rivers flow, and the trees are green.

Meanwhile, just imagine what you can do smile over and over announcing your place.

Meanwhile, smile.

TEARS When the sun goes down, the emotions come back.

Tears, Tears, Tears.

Why must there be sadness?

Oh!! Tears, why must you be pain?

Tears, Tears.

I wish it would rain. I hear the sound Of tears all over the house. Is that Rain on my windowpane or just the Tears in my heart? Are they the same, God? Tears, Tears, Tears.

A man is not supposed to cry, so why am I? Oh, I wish it would rain!!

Tears, Tears.

So that no one can see me cry.

But there are tears of happiness, joy, and love.

So why must there be sadness?

Tears, Tears.

I pray tonight when I sleep that I will not weep.

But my pillow stays wet. Is there no end?

Tears keep running down my face Oh. I wish it would rain.

I’m not ashamed. Still, I wish it would rain.

For a man is not supposed to cry.

So I just weep—let happiness begin Where sadness ends, and has been.

Tears, Tears, Tears.

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Poems by

John Pinkney

(DIAMONDS) PROMISES TO YOU I promise to always lift you up when you are feeling down.

I promise to wipe your tears when you feel you need to cry.

I promise to keep you smiling to show off that cute smile you have.

I promise to be your strength whenever you feel weak.

I promise to always tell you what’s real when you want to hear the truth.

I promise to be your smile when you’re frowning.

I promise to always cheer you up when you are down and sad.

I promise to give you faith when you are feeling insecure.

I promise to keep you sturdy when you are feeling unsafe.

I promise to listen when you need to talk.

I promise to tell you no lies, just what is true.

I promise to hold you when you need someone.

I promise to always be there for you.

Wherever you are, “I promise to always be there.”

I promise to never hurt you and never break your heart.

I can’t promise you that I will never cry, but I can promise you that I will always be true to you!

And, Love Of My Life, I promise I will always love you more than anything, with all my heart, no matter what we go through.

Baby, I’ll love you until the end of time.

I will be your guardian angel, as you are mine.

That’s my promise to you.

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Poems by

L. Murphy UP IN AGE, BUT TENDER LOOKS BY SIGHT Getting up there but not yet on the Hill, another day counts as an added one for my scale of getting older, weighing my thoughts on looks, on other people’s expressions when they look at me.

So I thought compliments are good— hear it almost every day: how cute my eyes are, my skin color, etc.

It lifts me up when I’m most vulnerable at times, but most cannot tell.

I guess it’s up in age, but tender looks by sight.

I feel sunshine in my heart.

My walk has laughter in it.

When I move forward, heads turn to see or guess how much sugar is stirring in my yams.

Could be up in age, but tender looks by sight.

I remove my way of thinking about somebody else’s looks when the years are slowly appearing on mine, but not as quickly as others.

I use what the earth has to offer and my higher power to preserve my looks— to be tender as I age gracefully.

Look at me.

Then you’ll see.

ME AGAINST ME Get out of my way, Self!

Speaking to myself.

Why? Well, I know me so well and it’s tearing me apart.

Get out of my way, Self!

Again speaking to myself.

Why? Well, I’m not following my own advice anymore.

Too many distractions— people, places, and of course, things seem to always get in the picture.

Well, my picture perfect world that I live in and won’t allow anybody to get in—okay?

Once again I say, Get out of my way, Self!

It’s just me against me and only me.

I have to make the first move on how things should be or go in my life.

Right?

I know I can do it!

I know I can.

Lord, can you help?

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Poems by

L. Murphy I STOOD BEFORE THEM SPEECHLESS A day of judgment— to be free or to flee like a runaway slave within my mind Words to me won’t die of cold by listening to authority’s statements which cut like a knife into my heart making bloodless feelings that my brain takes— an overwhelming pressure that scares the hell out of me.

I remember its dark glittering eyes down to this day.

Slowly, after awhile, I started to enjoy this game of cat and mouse— racing to get the cheese.

But after that, I started fearing words pushing me like a crowded train at rush hour going and coming toward no direction.

The position that I was in: I stood before them speechless, thinking about how this word from this point could put me in isolation for months or release me ‘til our paths meet again.

The air is thick and I’m drenched in sweat from the nervousness of attractive words.

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A ROOM FULL OF CURTAINS I enter a room, dark, yet colorless.

My eyes focus on what is visible to the naked eye and what is not.

Curtains, curtains.

All around me.

No matter where I turn, there I am, staring at— What? Curtains.

In a room full of Curtains.

I go through one, then another, and another— and still I feel as though I’m in the same place…

Where I was in the beginning.

Hmmm…

It’s funny.

Something tells me that this has to do with my life.

These curtains are the many situations in my life.

Many ups and downs, many ins and outs, but I’ll get through it somehow.

And when I do, be afraid.

Be very, very afraid.

Poems by

Robert E. Lee ALWAYS TICKING TO BLOSSOM Is a very true reality that’s an inner feeling of growth.

It’s not always physical, either, because a person’s mind and spirit also have a continuous flow of personal growth.

For sure all things take certain amounts of time to flourish fully.

But don’t forget that if something comes too fast it’s up to you to make sure that it retains its fullness.

Because you’re always ticking to be the best you can be, fully.

AN UNSTRAINED ENERGY Takes on a certain amount of power within one’s individual full self.

Instead of letting something totally consume a person they become mentally headstrong for a wonderfully good conclusion.

See, when it really comes down to it, a person goes with a full throttle of energy, to finally accomplish their specific goal.

Because if you’re really aiming for something to have a wonderful accomplishment you’ll go, like a card game—all in.

POETRY IS ALWAYS IN MOTION… …Because it’s a verbal gratification that lets people put their feelings and thoughts down on paper.

In actuality, it’s a definitive form of offering that performs some real satisfaction within Self to contribute to others’ points-of-view.

In other words, your giving is so delightful that you’ll always truly enjoy whatever you get back.

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Poems by

Robert E. Lee EPISODES COME AND GO In a person’s beginning, they enjoy becoming an actual member of society. In time, their mind perpetually grows into a sponge for knowledge.

Because they definitely want things to be better than before.

Sometimes, you actually have to have lost something in the past in order to gain more growth in your future.

IMAGES All of them constantly bring on certain factors.

Say, for instance, you wake up to a sunshiny day— right away your thoughts go to your plans for the day.

Because every now and then you realize that yesterday didn’t turn out as well as you planned, but you got through it anyway.

It’s always a wonderful pleasure to understand that today is a better day than yesterday— because you can make it into an inspiring image.

LIVING A TRANQUIL LIFE Is when you actually realize that not only did some things pass you by but they also hold a sensitive bond within you.

As a person gains age it doesn’t mean you haven’t gained some kind of formidable knowledge too.

See, in life you always win and lose, but be absolutely determined that if you put one up against the other, you’re always a winner.

Because you’re holding the house card and whether it’s mental or even physical, you’re a definite winner.

DARKNESS ALWAYS HAS LIGHT In all actuality, that’s when you know something is really physically there.

But you can’t control it, You can only gain a soothing comfort from its compelling grasp.

And the grasp is a challenge you can’t defer to.

It’s uncontainable, but you take full advantage of its presence.

Because if you don’t use it, it will always use you.

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Poems by

Dudley Koonce MIRROR When you look into the mirror what do you see?

I see a face staring back at me. Is it me?

And if so, tell me what it is I need to know.

Who am I? Where have I been? Will I ever go back there again?

My life has been what I made it— the ups and downs, the pain and suffering and hurt—just for today, I can say I like what I see, it’s only me.

Mirror, Mirror on the wall, who’s the fairest of them all?

DEFINE ANEW All that we see can be defined anew outside of what it has been meant to be.

The whole world and everything that’s in it can be redefined and can be made to work in a new capacity.

What things seem to appear to be can also be many things: old, new, used, abused—it doesn’t really matter.

It all depends on how you see it.

BORN Is there really a definition for it? If so, let me know.

They say it takes nine months for life to be born.

It takes a cat nine lives to be over life.

Born is the beginning. Dying is the end.

Born is the light from darkness, a light that shines full of knowledge.

Some say knowledge is to know and knowing doesn’t leave room for excuses.

We all really need to know ourselves and the things we go through so we can live life on its own terms, without excuses or escapes.

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Poems by

Dudley Koonce A WOMAN’S BEAUTY Some are sweet and neat, but all of them are a treat.

Delicious, tasty, and all of them are so, so sweet.

They come in many shapes and sizes.

All are lovable, and many are pleasing to the eye.

Beauty is in the eyes of the beholder, inside and out.

They say God has created us all, but whatever He felt and was thinking, He was definitely on the money.

So when we look at women or compare them to others and judge them, we must look beyond in order to really see their beauty and there is beauty in all of them—and I pay homage to all of them because there is a certain kind of beauty in all of them.

NIGHT OR LIGHT AND DAY Normally night is associated with darkness and what it can bring— Some say dreams and nightmares, others say a time for fun, partying, and romance, while others think of danger, intrigue, and fear.

We know that darkness represents the unknown, as well as bringing in the light, such as knowledge, information, and truth.

Would it be safe to say the night and light are associated— that one does not exist without the other?

In other words, if there is night, we have to have or see the light or day.

Night and day are really a part of you.

Night and day, day and night—on and on, like a song.

WORDS “Sticks and stones may break my bones but words can never harm me!”

Is this true or is it false? Words can never harm me, it’s true.

But they damn sure will bother me.

They say your tongue is your worst enemy— what comes out of your mouth, you can never take back.

One may forgive what has been said, but they never forget.

Say what you mean and mean what you say no matter how big, small, strong, or weak are the things that are said.

Words still have a meaning. Words are the key to communication.

Without them, there can be no relationships or expressing oneself.

Just people wondering what to say or how to say it.

Silence—what a wonderful world it would be.

What a wonderful world it would be.

What a wonderful world it would be.

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Poems by

Luther Jarman POETRY! Poetry is medicine for the soul to help make a human being whole.

Poetry has healing power better than cards and flowers.

Poetry guides me in what to do or say.

Hey, poetry makes my day!

Writing words of inspiration and hope is better than shooting dope.

Words are the most powerful drug used by mankind.

Poetry can blow your mind.

Poetry is medicine for the soul to help make a human being whole.

DEEP SONG A deep song that comes from your soul Deep Song!

A song that takes control Deep Song!

A song that makes you whole Deep Song!

It’s my goal to find a song that takes control and makes me feel whole My claim to fame is to have the Blues call my name I want you to cry me a river I want you to cry me a sea I want someone to hurt you like you been hurting me Life ain’t got no good news and I’m one step from the blues I want to hear a deep song all day long Deep Song!

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Poems by

Luther Jarman DON’T LET THE PAST DESTROY TODAY! I am getting better and better in every way— I don’t let the past destroy today.

We all make mistakes in some way.

I don’t let the past destroy today.

Forget what is behind, renew your mind.

Now is the time to find peace of mind.

Share words that bless, build, and uplift!

And remember that today is a gift.

I am getting better and better in every way— I don’t let the past destroy today.

BIG BREAK 40 years give or take still waiting for my big break.

Eating eggs and steak I butter my bread with Land of Lakes.

40 years give or take still waiting for my big break.

I came to town on the Greyhound.

Ever since, I been getting down.

One day I’ll receive my crown and stop acting like a clown.

40 years give or take still waiting for my big break.

Eating eggs and steak I butter my bread with Land of Lakes.

40 years give or take still waiting for my big break.

The world may roar and rage but I’m writing a new page I am bearing fruit in my old age as I write poetry and perform on stage.

40 years give or take still waiting for my big break.

Eating eggs and steak I butter my bread with Land of Lakes.

40 years give or take, still waiting for my big break.

40 years give or take, still waiting for my big break.

40 years give or take, still waiting for my big break.

40 years give or take, still waiting for my big break.

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Poems by

Luther Jarman ACTING LIKE A TREE! God is a tree Planted by the river Able to save and deliver His leaf never withers God is a green tree You are able to be Who you want to be Like a green olive tree Wild and free God is a green tree Helping the blind to see Helping the lame to walk The dumb to talk God is a green tree Planted by the river Able to save and deliver His leaf never withers

TRAPPED OFF Trapped off in poverty.

Trapped off in drugs and alcohol.

Self-made prison.

Self-made jail.

Is there a self-made heaven?

I don’t know.

But I do know there’s a self-made hell!

WORDS! Words have creative power Making life sweet and sour Words of love are heaven-sent Creating a positive environment Words of kindness and caring A spirit of human sharing Words can tickle and thrill Words can heal or kill Take your words and create A world of love, not hate.

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Poems by

Rufino Colón THE AMERICAN DREAM It doesn’t matter if I can’t because I’m a man or a woman.

It doesn’t matter if I can’t because I’m straight or gay.

It doesn’t matter if I can’t because I’m Christian, Jewish, or Muslim.

It doesn’t matter if I can’t because I’m famous or unknown.

It doesn’t matter if I can’t because I’m skinny or fat.

It doesn’t matter if I can’t because I’m rich or poor.

It doesn’t matter if I can’t because I’m Hispanic, Black, or White.

It doesn’t matter if I can’t because I’m nice or mean.

If I can’t…

THEN THE AMERICAN DREAM IS A NIGHTMARE.

YOUNG AND OLD When I was a child, I saw things the way adults told me they were.

When I was a teenager, I saw things the way I wanted them to be.

When I was an adult, I saw things the way I thought they were.

Now that I’m a senior, I see things the way they are.

WHY I WRITE I write because when I write I can scream what I dare not whisper.

I write because I can write about past heartbreak without being heartbroken.

I write because I can look back to who I was, and see how far I’ve come.

I write because I can tell my truth, without somebody else’s truth making it a lie.

I write because I can talk about what my heart knows love is, and not what my mind thinks it is.

I write because there are no restrictions on what I can say on paper.

I write because I can release my demons without harming others or me.

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Poems by

Iris Elizabeth Sankey-Lewis WHEN I PAUSE TO READ A BOOK When I pause to read a book, I’m in transit— I go to other places that will steal All senses pulsating, and I love it— I must first use radar to scan its field.

When I read a book, I tune out to tune in To what’s happening; but there’s more to it Than technicalities of the art, Now and then I’ll find new words of worth.

When I read a book, I’d rather it be mine: My pen is poised; I’ll write notes where I choose And reflect, or glance to see of chores, It’s like tuning out to tune in again.

THE SOLEMN LIVES OF BEES

When I read a book, I’m in two places at once, It’s like seeing two presents at a glance: One so captivating, I’ll dive in, But then I look to see everything.

History, mystery, and strength come to mind When I think of bees.

When I read a book, there’ll be repetition When I stray, I’ll see my own life in verse: What was, what is, what things should be first— All in all there’ll be sweet inspiration When I pause to read a book.

Undisturbed, they’ll tend their own business Without any pseudo fear.

B is for brutality to some bees.

B stands for black obsidian like gem of honeybees.

B is for invisible bloodshed some of us never see.

I think of the bold, the beautiful family of bees Spreading love like honey all across the globe.

Bees are as boundless as time; Their language you can comprehend, because Nature has it: bees were first in our world.

B is for bright works saving at least one soul.

B stands for the blind tasting honey then doing what was right.

B is the queen bee venerated by all.

Black, brown, and yellow bees of profound givens; It takes an extraordinary sensuous person to fully Understand them.

The solemn lives of bees have been underestimated Down through the passage of time, but no weapon Formed against them shall prosper.

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Poems by

Iris Elizabeth Sankey-Lewis

10 HAIKU

THANK YOU

Misty Morning More nostalgia and My mind on jogging

In the wee hours of my awakening You kept me from falling, You saved my life, though I’d tasted poison, You saw me drowning and sent hands to help me— Thank you.

Sounds of chimes Clothing on clothesline One barking dog.

Morning draped in silk of white like a bride about to weep.

Early sun rising as I stood alone looking at blue Jays in trees.

Near River a black man Passed his white kerchief To his Irish friend.

Two in twilight Years sat barefooted Together.

At twilight a spider Rushes to finish its web On my front porch.

Swaying branches Swaying thoughts Swaying fan.

A squirrel sat at noon on backyard lounge chair as if awaiting lunch.

A sudden rain a sudden flood then—suddenly—the sun.

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Thank you for seeing me safely through hurricanes.

Thank you for sunshine and rain.

Thank you for sending me aboard two helpful planes.

Though fire and ice were harsh, Thank you for safety and warmth.

Though my eyes were clouded by fear, Thank you for your grace, endless as time so near— Though sometimes I forget how much you care— You caused me to listen with my inner ear.

Thank you.

Thank you for giving me a second chance at life.

Thank you for hearing my prayers day and night.

Thank you for your inextinguishable light.

Thank you, thank you, thank you.

41 East 11th Street 5th Floor New York, NY 10003 212.645.0875 www.ascnyc.org

AIDS Service Center NYC (ASCNYC) helps thousands of men and women affected by AIDS and other chronic illnesses get the second chance they need to take charge of their health and reclaim their lives. Since 1990, ASCNYC has been designing and implementing innovative peer education, access to healthcare, and safe-practice counseling services that foster selfrespect, personal responsibility and connection to community.

We annually help more than 14,000 NYC residents make a positive change in their lives.