“People are trapped in history and history is trapped in them.” – commonly attributed to James Baldwin. As the protests have continued lately, I’ve been thinking a lot about the importance of history. Some people are acting like Black Lives Matter has come out of nowhere, but that couldn’t be further from the truth.
Continue readingamerica
America is on Fire (a poem)
America is on fire, but it’s okay –
we’ve burned before and we’ll surely
burn again. Men in masks smash store windows
and flames from a police car rise into a clear night sky.
I saw it all from the apartment window.
Continue readingSong of the Day: A tough father’s blue-collar advice to his son
I love music, though I don’t have much experience writing about it. I wanted to pick some “songs of the day” to dig deeper into the history of the music I love, and share it with others on the blog. For today’s song, I picked one I’ve been obsessed with for the past year or so.
Continue readingOn Black Lives Matter, the protests, and why it’s time for me to listen up
To put it plainly, the past week or so has been insane. On top of the pandemic, a revolution has started in many major American cities, including Philadelphia (where I live in the suburbs). I support the fight against police brutality, but seeing the violence and chaos on the news has sent my mental health on a tailspin.
Continue readingHoller from a Hungry Belly (a poem)
A jagged moon is cracked and
people gather on the hill –
white teens in Metallica shirts
and a Mustang in the dusty field.
They want dirt and blood.
Continue readingHolding on: Searching for hope during these dark times
I’m angry and I’m upset. The past few days I’ve sunk into a depression, mixed with bursts of anger. A lot of it has to do with self-isolation. Some of it has to do with bipolar symptoms. However, a lot of it has to do with what’s going on in America right now.
Continue readingWhat is America?
The funny thing about being an American is that, when I was growing up, we used to ask each other as kids, “Where are you from?” We didn’t mean what neighborhood; we meant what country. I would say, “I’m Italian,” because my family has Italian ancestry.
Continue reading