what my cats are up to. i always carry my business cards. i am not a poet, i only write to masture bait my mind. i am trying to convince myself that poetry it save lives. it's the dust of art. and i am going to close with to poet. americano. i look at myself in the mirror. trying to figure out what makes me an american.

i see chickens. practicing religions without a roof. i see my own blood. proud american blue genes labels. i see them sits outside with the eyes of an alley cat. i see myself trying to be more like james dean. i see carlos san tanna. more than sporadic latino explosions. as american as bruce spring teen and elvis presley. i see taco bell. i see purple, red, blue, green,

orange. i see cheetah revera on broadway. as american as the lee's, the kennedys. none sound american to me. i am not a shamed. jose can you see. i pledge allegiance to this country. land of commercialism. if i can win gold medals. if i can sign my life away. ain't no language. this is my country too. i believe in free dom and

diversity, need to get the hell out. [applause] >> i have one more performer. can you believe that? i am so excited. he is a very kind man to be here. he's a total icon. tales of the city. his book that was made do a city. he's here on his book tour. thank you very much. well, i would not have missed

this evening for anything. you and i both know these things can be boring. not tonight. i like to read, since i'm back home from a tour. i would like to read the chapter that my editor wanted me to remove. i have to set it up for you. michael toliver is 55 years old. they have gone to florida because his mother has died. and they have been out to the rest home, to the bear bar in

orlando. they meet a black bear, that is a husky african-american guy and the guy basically propositions them. proposes a three way. they decided he seems like a great guy. they tell him about their b and b. the innamong the flowers. it doesn't mean anything

because it was camouflage night at the full moon saloon. we felt compelled to tidy up. and reaging toilet. you force him to shower. we stashed it in the closet. he grabbed a razor and headed for the stall. you better be faithful about it. it's down right inhospitable.

he was dressed in a while, v-neck tee shirt. nothing. just wondering about the dress code. where your dress pants. you look hot in those. did you see my ring? i swear you would lose your head if it wasn't attached. this was my mother. i wondered if her death would release me or if i was doomed to norman bates territory. he will be here in five minutes. half an hour later, after i

squeezed. we were awkward as wall flowers. the lamp was already blazing with intensity. my growing hard on >> he seemed amenable. he got cold feet? may be he lost interest. ben shrugged. who knows. i would be with us in the second. i am serious. don't you feel abandoned. it's a three way honey, i don't think two people can feel

abandoned. he might be late. i looked at the clock again. 25 minutes. only hustlers can get away with that. he's not a hustler? ben turned and looked at me. you think i bought us a hustler? how pathettic tic do you think we are? >> i sort of felt like he targeted us. i didn't get that sense. may be i'm wrong. ben smiled. you are disappointed. no , i said, no just annoyed. he pulled down the waist band.

i don't need a mercy suck. he looked up. mercy suck. whatever. undeterred ben got down to business. mercy i said, there was when mr. johnson knocked on the door. you may have figured it out by now. to us, he was still the great dark man. a mythical man or object to desire. it was probably why we jumped to attention. jesus. tucking the incriminating evidence. wait. let this go down first. >> why? i don't know.

seems rude. ben widened his eyes at me. did you learn that from miss manners. i hid myself. this probably made me look grand. that somehow seemed preferable. men opened the door. he was standing there. i'm sorry fellows. come on in. our visitor shot a quick glance. can we get you something to drink? remaining seated. there's a soda machine. no thanks. did you have a hard time finding us. i'm michael i said. finally standing. this is ben.

he shook our hands. i'm patrees. i am worried that it might make me squirm. i found it hospitable. that it put he more at easy. we're glad you came. patrice smiled. ben caught my guy. he began to rearrange the

forskin. it seemed to swell. when he removed it, he said, i open it's okay. i'm sort of a kiss pig. no problem. as i caught my breath. ben removed. he reported getting a big laugh. i should tell you something. i am used to this moment arising. i tried to make it easier for him. we always play safe. so it's something else. we waited for the penny to drop. i do your momma's hair.

this simply did not compute. ben looked up at him completely open mouthed. what he murmured. i do his momma's hair. in this moment of raw revelation. the obvious pride she showed in her new hair dresser. i thought you were a woman. how did you about who we were? >> she has a picture of y'all

in her room. y'all by waterfall. she talks about you all the time. jesus said ben. what are the chances of this? patrice shrugged. why didn't you say something earlier? they ain't going to happen with your momma in the conversation. i liked the way he naild that down. i felt bad about it later. i almost didn't come. i need a break from here and it might as well be y'all. how often does he get her hair

done. i do her make up too. you cover up the blue. she has emphysema. she got to worrying about it. it must have been lennor. she looks really good. i like to work on old ladies. no one objected. he pulled me closer. within seconds he had us both in hand. like an eager barby doll.

sorry. every now and then, my own visuals overwhelm me. then he went down on both. i can understand why my editor didn't want this. then we went down, never neglecting either one of us. ben pulled my face into his and kissed me. in a three way, there's always the danger of being left out. i never felt unwelcome on the ride. by the time we were naked, by the time i shot my load, i

rolled it on to patrice. he came on all fours. never touches himself. i know because i was under neath, catching the flash. ben stayed there. his heart beating hard. then my cell phone rang. it's programmed to ring like an old 40's ring. leave it said ben. from the middle of the panting stack of men. nobody move said ben. there was a brief silent. or at least when i do.

sorry. that's okay said ben. patrice rolled off the bed. then he flickinged it into the toilet. what's this? his head was on my which of the now. that's an orchid. it keeps coming back. one with of those extra touches that mean a lot. he stared down at this offering. it don't look right somehow. i know. especially with a condom on it.

he cleaned up at the sink. he started gathering up his clothes. hang with us for a while. busy day tomorrow. >> my other job, bacheloret party. i strip for private parties. that's what this is for. he was stepping into his fatigues. apparently impressed. it ain't worth the bus fair half the time.

patrice shrubbed. if a sister has a plate of ribs, there's no way to held her attention. ben and i laughed. i'm serious. tickled to his response. i am up there working my ass off and they are sitting down there with their press on nails. tough crowd. they say they like the mens, he drew out the last. but they don't like the mens like the mens. they don't tip as good either. he came to the bed until we

came his naked book ends. he laid there for a while. be well my brothers. he said at the door. [applause]

>> i want first to introduce margaret cooley who writes nonfiction and poetry. also with us from boston but having stepped off the plain from dublina daniel to be lynn a writer at emer son college. i want to start by reflecting back that those of you folks

endeavored to reveal hidden histories of your family lives. we have spoken in advanced of today's conversation. it's clear to me you pursued the stories of your families histories for decades through genealogical work and writing and reflection. i'm wondering if can describe how you dot work you do and where the seeds of your curiousity, how they were planted and want compelled you to do this work. >> i would say that i was have much inspired since i lived in san francisco, california. we are a country of immigrants. in san francisco in particular, we have so many first generation americans. my husband is just became an

american citizen a couple of months ago. i have friendlieds who are first generation from vietnam. palestine, israel. mexico, as i watch them struggling with their cultural identities and trying to maintain the identities and have the respect as the american citizens they are in this country, it got me to thinking about my family heritage and thinking about how history really does repeat itself. because i know that my people want through these same issues in the famine times when they came. and i thought to myself, why are not more of these stories being told? we need to collect these stories. i am at an age where my parents and their cousins, their

siblings, they are getting close end of their life. one of the main ways i collect my information is through oral history i knew time was on the essense. there were stories that would be lost if i didn't collect these stories immediately. and that's what i embarked upon doing. >> i grew up in brooklyn, new york. my experience was landing by birth into an urban town land. my family, my mother is first generation i'm second generation. my grand mother lived in the apartment building with us. i had aunts upstairs. another aunt lived close by. pretty much 4 days a week my great uncle would come in and visit all of these people my

uncle, my grand mother and so forth, all were from a town land called outside of robin. when i was growing up i would hear the names. and they would conjure the sense of another world i was no longer a part of but was connected to. i think the -- i came to the brink of this sort of, you know, really quest gradualy by hearing the names. the other experience i had when i was growing up is music in my grand mother's house. my grand mother live on the first floor of the apartment building the door was open. everyone in the apartment building stopped there after work. they would stop for a drink and play polka, not polka, poker. and lynched to john gibbons play

an accordion on his wooden leg. you had the sense of people having come over if not in mass by a great number to this other place with a kind of echo of that place being transposed into the world that became my world. so that of my mother's side of the family. my father's side was more mysterious. over time i heard stories of lost aunts and saint john >> new found land which is not where they are from and a deeper echo further back. i had my grandfather's passport from 1918, you could smell the must on it. all of the mysterious presences were there. my father's side was a mystery which we will get to eventually.

and the third component is similar to what margaret was talking about. i irish american. i didn't know what a pure american was. none of my friends were pure americans. a lot of my friends were lebanese and from syria. i had yewish and irish american friends. all of our identities were mixed. my sense of being american was being in a mix of things. >> margaret could you also reflect in a prior conversation you talked about your father had a sense of where he came from and it was a little more difficult for your mom to articulate that? >> sure.