Darryl had a way of gently persuading you to do things you really didn’t want to do. Or that you didn’t think you could do. But he knew you could do them. He had faith in you. He had a way of seeing things in us that we didn’t see in ourselves. Joy said, he made each of us be a better me.

I was surprised—and flattered—when Darryl suggested we start working together on a project that eventually became our spoken word piece about coming of age in the County of Kings, “My Brooklyn, Your Brooklyn.” We started working on it in 2015 and performed it all over Brooklyn and Manhattan, from art galleries and museums to yoga studios and the Cornelia Street Café for about three years.

When I was diagnosed with a recurrence of breast cancer last year, Darryl worried about me. As sick as he was, HE worried about ME. He often texted me with, “You’re too fast; they can’t catch you.” When I told him I was fatigued from chemo, he said, “Pacing.” His last text to me said, “How are you?” I told him, then asked how he was. He was too sick to respond.

I loved working with Darryl. He made me a better poet. He made me a better person. He pushed me past my comfort zone—like getting me sing the Spinners acapella in public during MBYB. He was a mentor to many and will be sorely missed. Darryl occupied a space that no one can fill.