shayla lawson

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when she gets weary

When I think of tenderness I think of Gabe Tomlin, who I taught in 2013 Oh, she may get weary he wrote on the left hand-side of the page in grey. Which I think he knew about from his momma, or at least I think he tried. A little. Tenderness. He clocked the song with an unsentimental marker spatters of ink. The sound of high hats and hardness. The sound of being sixteen and tall as a tree. The sound of being tall as a tree and believing in every body as stars embodied in starflesh. I mean, he actually told the other kids in a pep talk to remember you are star dust. Who does that? So many of us weary in the heaviness of our sadness—grief & care—and we try. Yes we try. But here was Gabe: Try A Little... he writes on the left-hand side of the page in grey, maki[ng] it easier in the fine hand of metric kindness. The way the color spreads, yes. As if what we possess is just waiting to try. A little. A little. Easy, it tells me: You’ve got to. got to. got to. got to. Try. I mean, you’ve got to got to na-na-na, got to got to…

 Gabe Tomlin. Kentucky GSA. 2013

Gabe Tomlin. Kentucky GSA. 2013

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