Tuesday, January 27, 2009

When I was in the 6th grade, I was chosen to write to President Eisenhower for his birthday. Apparently my handwriting was the best in the class, according to Mrs Schultz, even better than Lee Hetu who got pissed that I was chosen. I have never felt the urge to write to a president again, until now.

Dear Barack,

I'm not worried for myself. I'm worried about the families I take care of, the ones having babies. The ones raising babies. Around here, it's me and the cats. But the faces of the mothers and fathers follow me into sleep. They crowd my room when I wake up.

I'm on my way to a birth tonight. I want all the mothers and fathers to have work and houses and food. Would you see what you can do?

Your friend,


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