I'm Adali Mone and this is The Slowdown.

I'm sure many of us have family members who hold values that differ from our own.

Perhaps they are more conservative traditional, more steeped in older modes of thinking.

I remember a serious conversation with my grandfather once in which he told me never to write about sex, which of course only made me want to write about sex.

I have friends that are sitting on whole manuscripts of poems that they will not publish until certain family members pass on.

Not out of fear, not entirely, but more so out of a certain respect for the elders.

The difference between our elders and our youths seem to be magnified these days.

Or perhaps it has always felt this way.

Perhaps we have always struggled to push new radical ideas while the old guard maintains a foothold on the benefits of doing things the way they've always been done.

The hard thing becomes how do we love each other through the strain of the separateness of age?

How do we not lose each other, lose family members, lose friends when our beliefs or even our identity is threatened by their way of thinking?

And when do we have to cut those ties and turn instead to our chosen family for support?

These are some of the big questions of our age.

Sometimes it's good to practice forgiveness and understanding.

And sometimes, to save ourselves, we need to untie the shackles of shame bestowed on us by traditional values.

In today's tremendous poem, the speaker moves through an exploration of shame doled out by the family.

As the speaker tries to hold the slippery weight of it all in the palm of their hands, a new awakening comes.

Come give me a kiss on the cheek by Manahil Mandukwala.

To drown in the water that fits in one's palm, to be ashamed.

Hold out your hand, curl fingers to space.

Now, turn the tap on.

Let water run and run off your lined hand.

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