who let the dogs out

on new years day i was sitting in a sun filled corner of the back porch of a cafe, admiring two dads with their two 4ish year old kids—the double date of your dreams. the red-headed kid was a superb ham. his performance included slithering on the ground like a snake, singing a song about the names of all the continents, and his rendition of who let the dogs out by the Baja Men. this reminded me of how much i loved that song as a child — its particular tenor of exhilaration [WHO? WHO? WHO? WHO?]. at one point he also sang an original song, his father kept saying i think you made that one up.

i heard the poet Nikky Finney describe “the sound of the genuine that each of us has” in conversation with Ross Gay and Adrian Matejka and immediately thought of this child.

his father apologized to us on his way out and we assured him it was a delight, nothing to apologize for. how we learn to apologize for ourselves and each other’s unbounded expression. how we learn to apologize for ourselves, to hide.

in the same conversation Nikky Finney also shared a note that she included in her latest book from one of her poetry workshop students over 20 years ago. She shares his words:

“most human beings make the fatal mistake of assuming that one needs less love as they get older, that is why i think there are so many adults with broken dreams and dull smiles. young children are the only people the world says it is okay to visibly show affection to and they deserve it, but what is the magic age when the world decides that children are too old to receive the unconditional affection they received when they were younger, all people want is to be loved and to love. love is the freest thing in this world. the love and knowledge that you gave to me during the week of workshops made me feel free and beautiful too.”

maybe we need the same amount or even more love as we get older. maybe we need to re-learn how to receive love, to imagine that we deserve it.

Nikky Finney also described the essay ‘Uses of the Erotic’ by Audre Lorde as “one of my wingspans. You know, it’s like, I love what she taught me in that essay, and I love how it transformed me into the poet and human being that I was looking to become.” i was struck by how at how each of our sounds of the genuine have the capacity to become each other’s wingspans.

i welled up multiple times throughout this conversation. if you listen i think you’ll understand.

the song Pressure Slide, with its own genuine sound, is a new wingspan for me. calling me forward — the lyrics and the melody:

all you gotta do, let the pressure slide,

all you gotta do all you gotta do

let the pressure slide

let the pressure slide. the etymology of forgiveness is to let go. this song offers a generous question: how are you going to let the pressure slide? whether it's the pressure of habit, of history, of white supremacy, of people pleasing or hurt or vengeance. so many kinds of pressure.

i suspect the capacity/willingness to let the pressure slide is directly related to “Generosity and going more deeply inside of ourselves to find the well that allows us to even engage.”1

going more deeply inside of ourselves to find our own genuine sounds. sharing these sounds with each other. the sounds making way for the sliding. to share your own sound as an act of love. to invite the genuine sounds of others.

welling as i feel how full the well within me is today. welling up.

the well. the sound. the sliding. the love.

and the wingspan. that we make each other feel capable of flight.