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I’d walked by it for months and left it untouched. But finally I turned around and knelt down and started moving the pieces back up to eye view.

It was magnetic word poetry, given to me by friends. When I first put it on my fridge, I’d ask my friends to make a phrase or poem before they left. But last year, while I was dating a guy with kids, they got rearranged. The children couldn’t read, the words meant nothing to them. Instead, they focused on making random lines and bringing things down to their level.

It’s not uncommon for us to destroy what we can not appreciate. Or to disregard the impact of one existence over another.

The old poetry was gone. But as i moved the words back up within reach, new poetry started being formed. I found myself smiling at the new combinations I could make, the new phrases I could combine.

Maya Angelou passed away today. I remember the thrill of going to see her in person a few years ago and hearing her talk. I remember the inspiration her words held and still hold for me. I wondered what new words would inspire us now.

Maybe now is the time for us to look back at the language we use, the language that has been brought down to a lower level, and bend down and bring it back up to a higher view.

I wonder what poetry we could make if we only tried.