a tree grows in brooklyn

"what are you thinking about, little girl?"
"just thinking," francie said.
"sometimes i see you sitting on the gutter curb for hours. what do you think of then?"
"nothing. i just tell myself stories."
miss tynmore pointed at her sternly. "little girl, you'll be a story writer when you grow up." it was a command rather than a statement.
"yes ma'am," agreed francie out of politeness.

ethni[cities]

the black church conference starts today. that's really what it's called. en serio. black church week. i love it.
sometimes [more often than not] i am more at home with people of different ethnicities than i am with white people.

the art of smell

sometimes i wish i could record a smell and then play it back at the most opportune time.
honeysuckle.
that's what it would be.
that and china.

regresar

they're back...they are here...
¡los hispanos están aquí!

niños

i had forgotten until just recently how much fun children really are.
they are uninhibited. care-free. funny.
i wish i could be like that.
last week we had a group of puerto rican children...i felt so at home.
i was upset when they left. it was like i had been given time with them--this culture that i love so tremendously--and then they were gone.
hopefully they'll be back. hopefully i will be back.

ser hispana es hermosa

days like today, i wish i was a hispanic woman....