Poem: May 11th, 2021

Friday Afternoon and My Classroom Is Empty

And of course it would be better

if you were here, laughing and

asking wild questions and

taking selfies to post on Snapchat

when you think I’m not looking.

You text, while we wrote notes we would

pass in the hallways between classes.

Not so much has changed. Has anyone

ever remained engaged in Act IV 

of Romeo and Juliet for an entire 40 minutes?

Still, it is nice to sit here in this

silent aftermath, this pen in my hand

and some things to think about without you.

You know how it is. We live inside our own

minds while the world dances around us.

Poem: May 10th, 2021

 A Weird Poem About Being Under the Influence of COVID

This is how I feel

after my second COVID shot:

I feel hot, but not so hot

as to say I have a fever.

My body aches enough

that I find it difficult

to do my stuff, to concentrate

on much of anything

for any amount of time.

But, really, I’m fine.

I like to keep in mind that

at least I did my part.

I have this great pain

throbbing in my upper-arm,

but to borrow from Hypocrates,

“First, I did no harm.”

And if that means I’ve saved

The life of some self-important,

blind, crude, deluded, spitting,

Anti-Masking freedom-infant,

then, okay, I saved a life.

But that was not my point-

So easy to get lost in

the tired fog of COVID-

I just want to go to Disney World.

But not today, not the way

I’m feeling in this moment,

not when my thoughts stray away from me.

Poem: May 9th, 2021

 10 Haiku for Our Garden in Spring

More living than dead, 

It’s time to take the census.

Hello blue crocus.

Last year we put down

bricks to make a path. The weeds

laughed and made their own.

First, the forsythia.

Then, the purple irises.

They come, but don’t last.

After the late freeze, 

Such joy to see the new growth

In the herb garden.

Home, and the dogwood

has laid a carpet of pink

flowers at our feet.

Gathering the sticks

in bundles that we will use

throughout the summer.

A fire would be nice

tonight, but the wind says no,

or the rain says no.

We clean up the leaves,

and then the helicopters,

and then those damn strings.

Every year huge

Pink peonies burst from their

Dense and crimson orbs.

Everything is dark

brown and dark emerald green

until the sun shines.

Poem: May 8, 2021

 Blue

Today I will write in blue, 

and I will feel

the cool, soothing

words moving through

the open window of the page.

I will take a slow

and smooth cruise across

the deep and waiting waters

of myself as it reflects

the world back to itself, 

becoming this one blue self, 

wild and open wide

like a yawn,

like the horizon.

So much to fill or just leave still.

Poem: May 7, 2021

 Pause

Poetry is for those who amble slow,

who wander the same gardens 

and find new things to notice- 

a box turtle under the hostas, 

New growth among the columbines.

Life, like poetry, takes time, 

and both invite moments 

of deep breathing

and closed eyes

to accommodate the opening

of other, stranger senses,

the harnessing of rarer lenses

to see that what seems flat contains dimensions,

layers, flavors, revelations.

Poetry asks us to lose time

in small, dense spaces,

where all of eternity waits.

Poem: May 6, 2021

 Early Riser

My alarm doesn’t go off at 4:30 AM 

because I am some early bird hoping

to catch the proverbial worm unaware.

I don’t take an hour to do my hair

or choose my clothes or commute to work.

And I don’t run a mile before I shower

or whip up stacks of pancakes while

my family grabs their extra winks.

No, mostly, I just sit here quietly

And work my puzzles while the light

Shifts its colors through the windows

And the world outside sharpens its edges.

I watch the cats pad across the kitchen

and enjoy their silences and remember

the French words for this or that. I take

everything slow. Je prends tout lentement.

And sometimes there is thunder in the distance.

Poem: May 5, 2021

 Crowdsourced Poem - May 5, 2021

I asked my students what it’s like

To be a teenager, as if i’ve forgotten,

As if I could ever forget, and I haven’t

Because I know what they mean

When they say they feel a million

Eyes on them at all times, like they

Are being controlled by someone

They can’t see, so they tiptoe on eggs,

And carry the pressure of a thousand

Bricks that might affect them when

They’re older, so now they can never

Really feel content because they see

That life is a delicious secret that 

Is filled with nails and broken glass,

That they go forward and back, 

Maturing and becoming more childlike,

Full of vibes and up to the task, 

A swing that swings up and back.

They feel stuck like a middle child, 

Trapped like a dog in a cage. 

At this age, it’s a complicated story. 

They know falling in love is like

Riding a rollercoaster, and falling 

From  a plane, and lying in the sun, 

And being punched in the chest, 

An unrest, where you can speak 

Your mind without the fear of being

Judged because it’s love, you know- 

A cough that can’t be hidden, 

A slow ember burning- but then

Falling out of love is like losing

Every single piece of you, is 

Being incomplete, breaking a pencil

And not being able to put it back, 

A heavy burden dulling out, and

Feeling constantly cold and never warm.

It’s a sad disappointment like going

To your dad’s when that’s not where

You want to be, and they can see

That there are hard parts to this world:

The struggle to express yourself to

Someone else, or the fact that there is

Someone else who is even there, or

Watching others as they fall, or that

Nothing, nothing is promised to you,

Or that you have to grow older,

Or trying so hard to fit in, when maybe,

You worry, you weren’t meant to,

Or when the cold walks over a good day.

But failure, too, can be inspiring,

Like dandelions next to the school, 

Bright and beautiful yellow weeds, 

And these strange days, never the same,

And there is always some happiness

To find in acts of kindness, in unity, in

doing the things you’ve dreamt of for a while-

All of the good that cracks through the bad.

When you watch yourself growing.

And you will be glad to know my students

Wish good things for this world, that we

Will understand one another and feel free

To express our minds and find our shared

And happy equality, and make a difference

While we are here, and that we will wake 

To find all of our problems- our hatred

And disease and stress- wished away

In a wild wind, or at least that we will

Stay strong through it all.

Poem: May 4, 2021

 Poetry

After all, what is poetry

except the care we take

with the few words we have

to say something

infinite

with the crude sticks 

and stones

we manage to collect,

To sing the pleasure of rain

or keen the anger of sudden loss,

to connect

to that place just beyond us,

chanting verses, incantations

as we feel our hollow bodies

rock in low notes, long words,

and sway with our reaching,

the prayer

we say to make this life

as heavy as it ought to be.

Poem: May 3, 2021

 Apparently, I’ve Got This

Last night, I had one of those dreams, 

or so it seemed, the ones that come back

to weaken you with your own misgivings, 

like when it’s the day of the final 

and your first day attending the class, 

or when you are waiting tables, but you can’t

read the ticket, or remember who ordered, or 

even find your way back to the table, 

because something keeps coming up.

But this time, nothing fell to pieces,

even when I arrived on stage for play practice,

having missed weeks of blocking and feedback

and running lines. I was, it turned out, fine.

I looked at the script and understood it, 

and when Mr. Lindauer (my director 

whom I could never bear to disappoint) 

looked like he was about to ask, 

I interrupted and said, “I know I can do this.

Give me a minute, and we’ll make it work.”

Poem: May 2, 2021

 Sonnet 2- Lunch Duty

A row of boys as boisterous as geese,

Gathered in the cafeteria, 

Honk and hiss and desecrate my peace

And strut and flap until I’m weary of

Their rude behavior, bent on making noise.

The bravado and the blather when they talk

Betrays the vile bile of careless boys-

Their gawkish looks, their need to always mock

Any target different from their friends-

This one’s body, that one’s darker skin-

Every “other” a means to their flock’s ends,

The focus of their foul and foolish din.

It’s difficult to see beyond their fray

And all the shit they’ve dropped along the way.

Poem: May 1, 2021

 For My Seniors, Spring 2021

This is my gift back to you, 

an honest struggle

to put into honest words, so much,

as if a poem could

contain the span and spark and heartbeat

of these unexpected months together.

To unearth words that, if they are the right words, 

must house the ancient weight of graven stones, 

of bones and home, a place to keep one’s soul,

to find the artful phrases, that express

just this: you have been sunlight to me, 

a surprising, but waited-for awakening.

And because no metaphor seems to say

all that I hope you will hear me say, 

I will mix my metaphors like paint, 

and shape and reshape this story like clay.

So let’s say I contained a forgotten box,

hinged and solid and locked and set down

a decade ago, there, where my dust had settled, 

until your voices filled this empty room

And your hands flipped switches,

Pulled blinds, cracked windows, 

Stirred the dust, 

woke me up and broke what had seemed so determined

and immovable.

You have handed me back 

my own open box, 

Full to falling with open fields

where narratives and photographs unfade themselves

in such organic unfolding.

And I am full with you, 

running like rivers, pouring like rain, 

breezing like breath through the atmosphere,

and tilling up this hardened

dusty soil with the bright edges

of your questions.

I don’t know how this happened, 

this world within a box within the room

within myself. 

No map could have brought you

where you are, at the center of me 

in this mad metaphor because

language is infinite and still too small

to contain the whole dense universe 

you have given me.

It seems, I have only this:

you have changed me,

and I am grateful.