This poem was presented written by Fellow Alia Hamada for Class XIII's Graduation
In one year, sacrifice
what you've known
about giving and
times what giving is
by 36. Provided
pasta dinners, hope
of college, and
a listening ear
to young people.
Big, red like a wagon,
a local farm-grown tomato,
there is a wagon and there is you.
There is nothing like a dance party
without fear. Arms out in the air,
and a beautiful voice singing:
It's a new dawn, it's a new day.
Life isn't all about feeling good,
but this year we've made good.
There is always an open invitation
because of the secret language
we share. There is a wagon and
we are here.
We will carry on, like we do
in those big hugs and shoulders
we've tilted towards us. Crooked
fences, all of us holding strong,
no wind to tatter our
fat bird tattoos or our humble
collared shirts.
There is a wagon, and there is you.
Volunteer, volunteer, volunteer times five.
A 2nd grader will come to you and say, "I don't want a tutor."
You will say, "You need a tutor."
He will say, "No. Today, my heart is my tutor,"
and you will want to agree with him.
A moment where in fact your heart
has grown into a big room or a big field
full of people connecting through voice,
math power, writing stories, playing soccer.
That thumping behind your chest.
Learning isn't just a tutor, but bigger, red,
like a sun on the hottest day in June
as you plan an event for a hundred young people
in an office with no air conditioning.
We are bigger than the sun.
In one year, we floated in and out
and created something big and new.
We made a world out of paper cups,
gum-drops & toothpicks, and then
we composted it all.
As we know, some bubbles never pop.
We will never die because of those sticky
rainbow marks on our trails.
Enough with the pizza, on with the stars!
There is a wagon, and here we are.
We got things done.
