Poem: November 13, 2019

Say What You Mean. Mean What You Say.

I'll go ahead and state the obvious:
teachers are underpaid and able to see
what's empty and what is irony and
generally tired of being told how noble
their work, how cruel the necessity
of their sacrifices for the children,
the future, the public good. They are
tired of all the people who seem to
agree what a pity it is that teachers
aren't paid more, that there is only so
much public pie, that more people
with power don't prioritize supporting
the work of those, who like me,
wouldn't do otherwise than to love
every child and awaken within them
the possibility of wise and good lives,
to pack each child's bag with great gifts:
the unfolding density of all we have,
the treasures of our past, and the blue
crackling electricity of their own
potential energy, and great fistfuls of
catalysts and earnest wishes, and the
magnetic arrows of curiosity, and
the far-off songs we hope to sing.
Which is to say we see our long and
grave work, we know the mythic
nature of our worth, and we are worn
through and saddened to hear the world
say the empty words, Too bad. We wish
things weren't this way. It's a shame
we can't increase a teacher's pay.
We see now where we failed.