 I thought maybe pass it down in rows. I don't have that many, but I'll have a little bit and then I'll just explain. One, I really want to thank Juliana. It's amazing to be able to be part of this project. It was really, really cool. I really want to thank Mason. And listen closely, Mason, because one of the problems was inspired by you. I really want to thank Joel Gomez, who like many things are inspired by her. And this is the one. I couldn't have all the books at home. But this book I've been carrying around like a security blanket for the duration of this project. I really appreciate it. And also to Dee Dee, who couldn't be here. So what I'm passing around, I learned this project is like drinking from a fire hydrant of material that you didn't even know existed. So I made something called a finding guide for the other people. I wish we had met before. But finding aid, that's what it's called. I never heard of a finding aid till I was assigned the materials in the archive to look. So this is an artistic finding aid. There are actual finding aids to the Hermel archive that you, when you meet the librarians on the sixth floor that give you, so it helps you keep track of what you're doing, looking at all this stuff. And that's all I'm going to say about the project. I wanted to focus on this presentation to give you a sense. I will say, I took advantage. I was assigned, because I'm a doctor. I trained here at San Francisco. I was assigned material from 5A, the AIDS word at San Francisco General, which is where I started my training. So I'll keep it brief. But it was intense. I was crying up there. They're people I know. I didn't expect it. So I created a piece. I'm trained as a classical musician. So I'm just giving you guys the pre-conductor thing. I'm going to be quick. It's going to be a, my piece is entitled, This Is My Spine. It is a duo for flute and poetry. I am inspired. One of the books, which I didn't get to read, so much I was assigned. But it had Aaron Copeland. It was about gay composers and musicians. And I played Aaron Copeland's piece. I didn't know he was gay. I had no idea. So this is the duo for flute and piano. So that's where the title. OK, I'm going to read. There are four poems and the little music. The music is improvised based on what I feel for me as the audience, based on a blue scale, which I'm classical. OK, so this has been hard. So be nice to me. And then you will know to clap, because there will be a poem at the end. You count four poems, and that will be it. They're not that long. But you don't clap between movements, because I'm a classical musician. Thank you. OK? OK. This piece has never been performed. This is the world premiere of this particular piece. OK. OK. The first poem, I'm sure to. OK, that's better. The first poem is called Gratitude for 43 September's for Jewell Gomez. Jewell, you left me a piece of yourself like an emerald hiding in the stacks. I always knew from your smile you were really special. And maybe we had a thing or two in common, growing up as smart fat girls and families of strong women. I delight in your essays about your childhood and growing up. We are not quite the same generation, but the world doesn't change so quickly. Your words resonate and sustain me, even now when my body begins to crumble and I feel the wind as I coast on that long downhill slide of life's mountain headed toward the unknown. This next poem is called Five A. Warm embraces and loving acceptance for all who enter. Space made sacred by a community of nurses, clerks, volunteers, family, patients young, old, living and dying with HIV, ARC, AIDS, PCP, blood transfusions, GCSF, AZT, pentamidine. Don't tell anyone I'm gay. Cryptococcal fungus will find you. No one can hide capacity spots when wearing shorts and walking in any neighborhood. You can't look at what you don't see. Too young to go blind from cataracts or various kinds of meningitis. We all need sacred spaces to shed tears, share love, be free to be who we are. There are no miracles, just hard work and faith in the global effort to interrupt transmission, replication, slow the disease, the epidemic, stem the tide. Five A, sacred space. I remember warm embraces, loving acceptance. This next poem is called Ode to Librarians and Librarians in Waiting. When stacks are closed, or partially so, libraries' treasures are hidden. This requires conjurers, librarians, to unlock the fonts of knowledge and treasures of written words, copies of art pieces, films, voice recordings, all the elements required for journeys to the past or to futures unknown. I've spent years wandering this building with half-empty shelves unaware of the treasures hidden behind the walls. I did not know that I carry the key to our community's shared wealth, my library card, which has the ability to unlock the universe and launch flights to anywhere. The last poem was inspired by my son's high school English assignment this past month. This poem is called You Bring Out the Emerging Cutie Pock Poet in Me. It is after Sandra Cisneros says, you bring out the Mexican in me, and for my son's. It will be done when I'm done with this. You bring out the emerging cutie pock poet in me. The only fits in a three-dimensional then diagram in me. She hasn't taken an English class since high school. Who does she think she is? The woman-loving woman, yes, also married to a man in me. The black woman at the synagogue, whom you explain everything to, but she's already read it in Hebrew in me. The sum lesbians are allergic to cats in me. You are the one who recognizes my alienation and almost any crowd, the quadruple on tenders that always seem to fall flat, the flirtations that go nowhere because she doesn't cross color lines. You hear me. You bring out the nascent writer, chanter, singer of praise songs in rhyme no reason in me. The shame for lusting after that treyf woman with tattoos in me. The caught by the rabbi's wife eating a salad with bacon guilty look in me. The I'm not butch or femme, just me in me. You know who you are. You bring out the Motown rhythms in me, the Salt and Peppa fan in me, the fat girl in me, the one who loves the humanistic schmaw in me. The I don't feel comfortable traveling to Israel unless I'm fluent in Hebrew in me. The I don't feel comfortable traveling to Palestine unless I'm fluent in Arabic in me. Look out, I see your smile. You bring out the opse math in me. The I work hard, so I've only got a few minutes a day for a poem in me. The you'll never be a musician, so just go to medical school dream deferred in me. The some black people speak standard English, some don't in me. The black pink diaper baby with a Yiddish name in me. The big sister, mother, wife, lover, friend in me. I'm calling you now. The Jewish lesbians are black in me. The black Jews aren't lesbians in me. The fat women aren't doctors in me. The I haven't seen another black woman's solo flute recital yet in me. The poems have to come out, but maybe no one wants to hear my anthem in me. The I'll never give up dreaming and hoping for a world where there is no big deal about me, nothing to hate or ignore. Smile, you can do this. You bring out the I don't support gays in the military. It's the military I don't support in me. The I'm wondering after 242 years, why do we only have to have presidents from one gender in me? The I'm afraid of violence in the movies, but I'll stand up to a six foot two violent patient in me. The I'm a doctor, but a fat black woman gets no respect as a patient in me. The I always knew I was different, but had never heard of cutie pock until last year in me. Look at me. I want to love and be loved. I want to be recognized. I am the black meaness of Willendorf. I see her afro every morning when I shower. My body bleeds like any other when cut by a microaggression or a knife. My heart beats in many layered rhythms. I want to love and be loved. I want to join you. Join me. Let's harmonize our songs.