Streams of Oil
Join a group of NYC high school students as they rehearse their original spoken word poems for a performance at the Apollo Theater.
One day, I'm going to have a daughter.
I see myself holding my baby named love and I see her first breaths being contaminated
with pollutants and chemicals.
I see her first tears to signal her first breath and they're coming out in streams of
Howl of fires, crackling, smoke darkening, children asphyxiated by a cloud of debris.
No more movies.
Even so, I am bartered, traded for new factory here, a new mine there.
My relatives in Greece have to evacuate their homes just miles from raging wildfires spurred
by climate change.
Even when the weather man said it would hurricane I swept the tropical storm under the carpet
category of mythological weather phenomenons.
I have heard the screams of the young, they are breaking sound barriers telling the people
with power that their beautiful earth needs to be salvaged that she is dying.