Poem: January 7, 2019

Curriculum

Science is born of wonder,
our ache to make sense of our senses,
to understand the patterns of birds,
the romance of water and air,
to know the smallest pieces of self
and the pregnant distances beyond our reach.
Science is drawn to the hidden places,
the edge of the map or the unexpected sound in the dark.
Science is a question that will never be satisfied with an answer.

Math is our instinct that the world can make sense.
It is order and placement, definition and points.
With math, we say there are rules that apply,
and with them, the clean comfort of our place.
Math pays the bills on time, counts calories,
can quantify success and account for loss.
Math is the belief that everything fits,
that balance can be achieved,
that God is one hell of a clock maker.
Math is faith that every question has an answer.

History is our love affair with ourselves.
It's the story we repeat and revise in every setting-
family dinners, taverns, group therapy, commencement.
It's the way we check ourselves in the mirror,
straightening our tie, checking our teeth,
practicing our expressions as we say, "Did I ever tell you..."
It is the certainty that we have value and are worthy of note.
History is the ceremony we perform for ourselves,
the answer to our darkest questions.

Language grows from us like tendrils.
It is the hopeful act of asserting and seeking truth.
Each of us broadcasts I am, I see, I feel, I know.
Each of us receives broken messages of the same.
Tendrils seeking tendrils, hoping to find common experience,
something to affirm that our reality translates.
Language is thought given body, perception given form.
It is the cry that crawls toward eloquence
and the comfort of our mothers arms.
It is a question, yes. And an answer as well.
But it is also the space between.

Art is our longing for immortality,
our insistence that we can live more than one life.
Art asks, "What if..." and concedes that the alternative is possible.
Pursuing art is taking confident steps on shifting sands,
the creative force of God in human hands.
Art is a mile marker, a microscope, an open window, a punch in the chest.
It is the laying on of hands, cross-dressing,
and the transmigration of souls.
Art is the question with many answers.

Music is the sensual pleasure of our bodies released.
It is all fingers and throats, rhythm and notes.
It is our primitive pulse escaped from rocking hips.
Absurd and vital and lingering,
Music lives in a universe beyond questions.
It is the answer to the question that didn't need to be asked,
or perhaps to the question that always was.