Catch Me a Moon

catch me a moon once meant
fix my broken heart
(at sixteen, when in pieces
my heart’s only remedy were
the silver splashes of light)

catch me a moon now means
give me a moment
(a moment to myself, to bike,
to run, to remedy stress
with silver splashes of light)

catch me a moon was a story
I wrote (and memorized,
reciting its words as I tackled
giant hills on my way to school
under silver splashes of light)

catch me a moon is a poem
I write (holding my mended heart
as I rediscover the well-lit path
that will carry me—carry all of us—
as we reach for silver splashes of light.

Summoning Spring

pedals taking me there
the horizon beckons
on either side of my tires

from the west, golden,
hidden under a mask of clouds
the glowing coin of night
settles itself onto a bed of
snowcapped mountain peaks,
the city’s glittering lights
quilting the mattress of spring

from the east, silver,
hidden under a mask of clouds
the flashing fish of morning
prances into a pool of
aquamarine divinity,
the black-roofed suburban homes
splashing the tides of spring.

pedals taking me there
the horizons beckon
the divine hands that
summon spring’s sunrise
on both sides of my tires.

Keep the Best and Eliminate the Rest

They’ve all but hired a new superintendent for our school district. Googling her led me to her job-jumping status quo. First in Des Moines, then Tucson, but only in Tucson for two years. This is just like the last superintendent we had, who jumped from job to job, and he ran this district… well, into the ground, really. But that’s just my opinion. I must say I have never seen such an exorbitant amount of money spent on such ridiculous things. He spent it all on conferences, luncheons, unneeded administration, and mileage, then fled.

I found out about the new superintendent earlier today, right on the tails of me reading an article from the cover of Newsweek about education reform. They did a beautifully creative cover. In the background, written in chalk a hundred times, were the words, “Fire bad teachers.” Ouch. The article went on to explain that because of the unions, teachers have almost zero chance of termination after they acquire tenure. In fact, less than .02 percent!

I must say, having team taught for five years, I would have to somewhat agree with this article. It’s hard for me to accept that agreement, because I am a liberal, and of course I’m part of the teachers’ union. But at the same time, I’ve seen a couple—and I really mean just a couple—of teachers who really shouldn’t be teaching. If they don’t care about the kids’ education, how are the kids ever going to care? As a teacher of at-risk ELLs, this bothers me tremendously. I need my students to succeed more than I need for their white, middle-class counterparts to, because ELLs have a much higher likelihood of dropping out. So when teachers are ineffective, have poor management, and simply don’t invest care into what they do, it has a huge impact on students whose families might already be wary of the educational system (and teachers) as it is.

With our school district not only having to hire a new superintendent (who might not stick around!) to replace the one who fled, but also facing year four of drastic budget cuts, teachers and support staff are losing their jobs in every school. And who is leaving? Well, the new teachers, the probationary teachers, of course. Not a chance that anyone else would be considered to be put on the chopping block, though I know for a fact that I am not the only one who feels that there would be some different, weaker teachers in our school who should go instead of strong, new teachers whose only weakness are their hire dates.

So I will admit that the system has flaws. What began more than a hundred years ago as an attempt to improve salaries and benefits for teachers has now, in effect, backfired and hurt our children. Just as the Newsweek article pointed out, now that women have more choices about careers, most won’t choose teaching, and most public school districts pick teachers from lower-performing colleges. And so many teachers enter the career having minimal training in classroom management, which is the most important factor for student success.

But what are we supposed to do? Reform an entire system in an attempt to find and keep good teachers and fire bad ones? It is possible, but again I become discouraged by Newsweek’s, and other more conservative media’s, simple answer to this question: base teachers’ pay and rehiring on students’ test scores. This cannot be the determining factor, and here is where my liberal blood boils. Being an ELL teacher, I see how weak students’ scores are on standardized tests for the first several years that they are acquiring English. No teacher, no matter how effective, is going to be able to break down the linguistic barrier that hampers their success without years of language immersion and sheltered instruction. And with the percentage of ELLs increasing every year (this group, in fact, is the fastest growing population of students in U.S. schools), in every state, we need to use more data than test scores to evaluate teachers.

The truth is, there is no easy answer to the question of education reform. But it needs to happen. We need administrators, the U.S. Department of Education, and superintendents to stick with their school districts and to work with teachers (the ones in the trenches) to come up with solutions for reforming teacher evaluation techniques. If you ask effective teachers how they feel about ineffective ones, they are the first and most opinionated about calling out their weaknesses and admitting their need for removal, because those teachers’ ineffectiveness destroys what effective teachers are trying to do: educate our students to the highest level of expectation. And if we are all on board about what’s best for students (good teachers!) then we should all be able to work together to keep the best and eliminate the rest.

Every Moment

I remember nights without sleep
and cries without consolation
diaper bags and strollers a must
for even the simplest outings

now their once-wispy hair is
tied back in tight braids and
their cries are aimed at each other
with bitter words to match.

a blur it’s been, baby years gone,
relinquished first to toddlerhood
and now we’re full-on childhood
their lives zipping by me

before I can even sit on the swing
with their daddy and reminisce
the time that is happening now,
they will be all grown up.

(I will remember this when I
hold my hand to a feverish forehead,
when they pitch a fit and act their age,
when I think every moment is too much)
because every. moment. counts.

Adrenaline

it’s amazing how the smallest thing
can pump a mother’s adrenaline—
a scream, a weak call, a fever
(not my own, but the listless look
of a sick child)

it rushes in, takes control
of my body until it transforms
to hand-jittering fear.
the moment passes
but as long as I’m a mother
the adrenaline will be there
hiding like fog on my soul,
waiting for its next chance
to smother me as I reach
to protect her.

Black Bicycle Tires

At sixteen
(almost seventeen)
I wrote in my journal:
“Busiest street in the city
a solid two days in a row
you crossed it in between
rushes of cars, slow uphill
in gray breath-spilling morning,
heated gasps down the slope in the afternoon.

‘God is sending me miracles!’
you scream out, because
nothing moves as quickly
as black bicycle tires
when it’s almost summer.”

At thirty-one
(almost thirty two),
I write in my journal:
“Silver or magenta,
mountain or road,
black bicycle tires
erase the pain
before and behind me,
a majestic blur of
rubber on pavement,
a remedy for adolescence,
adulthood,
life.

Face

Without this, we wouldn’t be here today—
I would still carry the guilt
that hovered ghostlike in my soul
for eight harrowing years
and you would still not know
what it was I had done to you
(some might say that’s better)

but you and I, we both know
that the blemish I could never
quite cover up bumped out
on the face of our love and your
discovery became the astringent
we both needed to wash it away.

now we face our future together
you with the phantom of a beard,
me with my imperfect (but so
loved by you) freckled skin,
and I know that without this…
(pain? grief? remorse?)
we wouldn’t know how to face
whatever will come tomorrow.

Gratitude

Be thankful that we live here
where we can say what we think
without repercussion from Big Brother
Be thankful that we have each other
to carry the weight when the world
is pressing heavily against us
Be thankful that we have a system
that has held us together for more
than two hundred years.

Be thankful that no one has been
able to take it away
because of our obstinate struggle
to keep it safe (whether it be
with the sword or the mighty pen).

Be thankful, because you never
know when you will have a reason
(a real, non-petty reason)
to lose your gratitude.

Reality Check

What is real?
Transformation of stuffed animal to live one?
Something that is truly authentic?
An emotion that brings forth great sentiment?

It could be anything
in the media’s eyes:
Made with real fruit!
Real cheddar in every (highly modified) bite!
Parenting advice from real moms!
Water from a real spring!

It makes me wonder:
if everything they’re saying is real,
have we been eating fake fruit,
synthetic cheddar,
growing up with alien mothers,
and drinking from the ocean?

Someone ought to write
a real poem to clarify this
(maybe we need a real poet?).

One Day

Some people call me a hippie
not realizing
they’re being complimentary
because I’d rather be a hippie
who loves the earth
than a “conservative”
who does the opposite of conserving
the water that our children
will one day thirst for,
the ecosystems
that will one day
destroy the earth in their absence,
the (now demolished for mining) mountaintops
that one day inspired our ancestors.

Yes, I think a “dirty hippie”
whose feet carry the dust
of garden soil,
whose heart yearns for freedom
(our planet’s freedom)
whose soul aches to conserve
whatever it is we have left,
will one day be an admirable term.