The Chance to Dance with Stars
Every now and then I will hear a song,
something by The Format- Tune Out,
On Your Porch, or more likely, Oceans,
and I return to my last year of teaching,
and to you my students, my pirates and ninjas,
and to the easy stretches of time we spent
together in the work of making meaning,
the collective alchemy of learning.
It's natural, I know, to romanticize
something left behind, to see some moments
in time as different because they mark
endings and beginnings, what is gained
and lost. It's easy to forget that all roads
have stones, that failure and struggle
are as likely as discovery. And I'm okay
with that, but something reminds me
of who you were with me in 2009,
and I want to tell our story
with the most forgiving pen, to pretend
that you read every story I assigned,
that your questions were always insightful.
Let's tell people that I handed you wonder
and, transformed, you used your minds
to heal wounds, build temples, master time.
Let's all carry with us the unshakable
conviction that we danced with stars
and lived grand lives together as artists,
philosophers, mystics, and inventors.
I understand that it wasn't that way.
We liked each other's company.
We did the work we set out to do.
Most days we laughed some,
and, truly, I cared about you.
And if now I choose to look backward
and see something more than a classroom,
I hope you know it's because every choice
we make matters, every person
with whom we spend time in thought
gets placed on our map, and hidden
in our corners. You left part of yourselves
in my pocket, buried like treasure,
and in unexpected ways, I discover you,
look behind me, and hope that you are happy.
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