All about my hat, a gift from Thomas Robert Higginson.   Ansted Moss composed and performed the music that I arranged, and also performed the vocals, derived from poems written by co-learners (members) of a graduate writing learning community. I was most eager to honor a most special hat. And lucky that a co-learner happened to write a poam about a "Fedora"


https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jk89cm29wuo

I Want to Be

A terrible question often asked of people, children in particular, when they are far too young to answer given inexperience,

Those who ask are often seeking an answer that is an occupation or career:

"I Want to Be" a nurse.

"I Want to Be" a doctor

"I Want to be" a pilot.

etc.

What about states of being? --that is what comes to my mind, not a career.  I am more of a dreamer like "Olivia Pig"

"I Want to Be" a good person

"I Want to Be" compassionate

"I Want to Be" giving

"I Want to Be" honest

"I Want to Be" loving

"I Want to Be" forgiving.

When I was an instructor at Phillips Academy, my son was bombarded with this question.  He was only a toddler, and could not then answer effectively, according to responses expected by the asker. so I immediately wrote this book , that Jerry Pinkney, the illustrator reads on YouTube:

JUST RETURNED FROM MEXICO!

(Here is what I filmed upon my return to Detroit Metro Airport:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=x8lDREuzrBQ&t=488s

I WAS THERE FOR THE DIVERSOS POETRY FESTIVAL!

in Mexico City!

What a wonderful time I had!

I read the poem, "If You see Something, Say Something", a collaboration written with a poetry friend of mine, his poem appeared first:

then came my poem of the same title, a collaboration published by The Fiddlehead of Canada (as follows:

--in response to: "If you See something, Say something"

                                        --Thomas Robert Higginson

       

"If you See something, Say Something

Banana"

                      

white shadow

crescent moon

Wax (ing)

Wax banana

Wax grapes, apples

in bowls

On my mother's dining room table

lunch

kitchen sink

I see this also

my father washing dishes

scalding water

his skin

down the drain

plates clean, heavenly,

full of banana water spots

we eat the shadows.

two of which

are my father's

diseased lungs

yet I float on clouds

into such a clean, pure kingdom

that nothing else matters

just a banana which I eat the moment I arrive.

Buddha

in suds.

copyright © 2016 by Thylias Moss. Published by arrangement with the author.  All rights reserved., initially published in "The Fidddlehead of Canada, a fine journal 

There is not a finer poet with whom to collaborate.  I am indebted to him for this poem, and always will be.

A photo of my father, the one my poem is about.  He died in 1980, before I had even published a book, (now I have thirteen, including a romance novel: New Kiss Horizon.  He never met his only biological grandchild, my son, who will be 26 this month.

                          mi padre.  

He was called, Mole (after the Mexican Sauce -moh-lay)