Ode to Phyllis + Collective Writings
photo by Conor McCormick-Cavanagh
Please see several writings, poems, and more as offerings to Phyllis below:
:
Ode to Phyllis by Jonathon Stalls
Cherished Friend,
It's the way you were always early... texting me or others 30-minutes, sometimes one-hour before every meeting, walk/roll event, or group gathering. You had to reserve the access-a-ride at least 24 hours or more in advance. You scheduled it to arrive, often hours early, because you knew it would frequently arrive late (or not at all).
You didn't miss one email, update, planning meeting, or story.
It's the way you carried the courage of mountains (often in the road because there was no sidewalk or the sidewalk was inaccessible) - moving against high-speed car traffic - showing elected leaders, transportation planners, civil engineers, and fellow mobility justice advocates the dignity and experience of people using powered-scooters trying to get home, to the bus, to the grocery store, to school, to work, to medical appointments.
You spoke up at council meetings, joined committee meetings in-person and virtually, interviewed with local and national press, offered feedback on community budgets/plans, and so much more - impacting more accessible, dignified mobility for thousands of community members across Denver and beyond.
It's the way you pushed, nudged, reminded, and followed-up with me and other busy people in busy, swirling projects/systems - making sure every project you touched moved forward.
You tirelessly advocated for accessible sidewalks surrounding your senior public housing home and won nearly half a million dollars in funding.
It's the way public officials know you by name.
It's the way engineers see the dignity of nondrivers in ways they haven't before.
It's the way you joined a new transportation committee weeks before your body let go.
It's the way you learned zoom, TikTok, Instagram, Discord, and more for the greater good.
It's the way you invited us to play cards.
It's the way we co-created scavenger hunts and neighborhood walk/rolls.
It's the way we moved - side by side - on all-weather Pedestrian Dignity experiences.
It's the way you served as Secretary, Vice President, and eventually President for your neighbors.
It's the way you welcome - everyone - into this when-we-can, however-we-can grassroots work.
I see you. I see you. I see you.
We see you, green bee.
How could we ever stop seeing you?
It's the way you commented on every new art piece I shared.
It's the way you tried to visit me at every local art market.
It's the way we laughed and teased each other.
It's the way you showed up for every art lounge - from home, the bus stop, in the doctor's office, and on the hospital bed.
The loss of your physical, virtual, and on-this-planet presence hurts the most.
And.
You are with me, still.
In every budding tree, flower, and missing sidewalk.
You are with all of us in every way.
If I am ever asked to define "advocate" - Phyllis Mack, born August 16th - will be the first thing in my heart and out of my mouth.
Thank you, cherished friend, for seeing me and teaching us so much. With the widest and most spacious kind of love, courage, fire, laughter, and humility I can offer.
To you, Phyllis. Always.
Your friend, Jonathon
Watch this video below produced by Denver Housing Authority - Phyllis Mack Denver
If you are interested in gathering with us in celebration of Phyllis, please reach out to me at jonathon (at) intrinsicpaths (dot) com or by text 720 263 0227.
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Poem by Nica Cave
The first time we met felt like
finding each other again
how we just looked at each other
and knew what sister had been through
The street gutter a second home for
those orphaned by the cracks and
crevices and too skinny sidewalks
like uniforms that don’t fit
so you designed your own line
and wore it so unapologetically
That time we went to the cafe and
the server saw us in our chairs and
asked if we were going to buy anything
something about our seated silhouettes
made us seem suspicious
but you didn’t let that, or anything,
turn you away at the door
In a world that identifies us by the way we tread
you saw the lines and colored outside
moving with a torch atop your head
setting spirits ablaze beyond walls of the maze
That time you asked me to help you pirate an
audiobook on your computer because
knowledge and love are free in your world—
Green Bee
Queen Bee
And you gave me a coffee mug that
looks like an egg, and
I see you in this origin of life
every time I take a sip
And we thought for the longest time that
your last name was Smack and
little did we know you were
naming the hand you put up to the system’s fists—
open, yet demanding the life we deserve
When you’d call me for just ten minutes
on a Monday just to see what’s up
and you left me gifts in the voicemail box
The way we would match our pace as
we moved along the street
totally in sync in blood and ink
with arms linked we announced
our rightful presence to oncoming traffic
you taught me how to be fearless
Every city needs a Phyllis
but you are the one
nobody else can sing your melody
and you told your own story
into a microphone that
could never be big enough to
capture the layers of you
Every move a brick in this house
we are building together and
your spirit is more than a foundation
more than white paint on the wall
you are the architect designing
the vision and I am grateful
to have lived in your universe
:
Writing by Justin Bai
I am still processing this loss, and words seem insufficient to commemorate someone so inimitable.
I remember the way Phyllis was so often to reply to emails with "Count me in!" In fact, I believe my first interaction with her was through one of these emails when I first connected for the Sheridan walk and roll.
I remember she was fond of using the 100 emoji to react to my stories on Instagram.
I remember her telling me about growing up in Denver and how much its changed, about Stapleton Airport and how she used to work there.
I remember when she thought Nica and I were dating and we had to break it to her that we weren't, that we were just good friends.
She seemed so full of life, and it's hard to believe there won't be another Zoom meeting with "moto g" again.
:
Poem by James Warren
Your joy radiated out like a warmed hearth in a darkened room
The closer I got the more I could feel the flames ignite me too
Unrelenting love for those forgotten
“I did it for myself,
But mostly I did it for the community”
Like an edict from your throne
Even when your eyes grew weaker
Your spirit danced inside you like a pinball machine
All noisy and aglow
Waiting to place your next thirty phonecalls, waiting to be transferred to the most powerful person in the room
Her phone gave the busy signal
Because it was a Moto G
And now that spirit is alive
Just no longer in your body
The body that the system wished to destroy, but they were not ready for your smack
Flutter on, green bee
Pollinate some other world as you have ours
Now the spring flowers push out of the pavement to worship you
