with water everything is pure
from sandy shores to lakes demure
it washes off and cools us down
and shatters each internal frown
with water we wash out the weak
replacing it with a stronger streak
of life that breeds within the deep
bringing forth the hope we need to keep
with water we have a clearer light
on days that inevitably end in night
it guides us there and guides us back
and washes out what once was black.
for a thousand miles
we see the reach of
the Mighty Mississippi,
the river we bought
for pennies on the dollar,
the river of dreams
(sometimes nightmares),
the river that feeds us all
and doesn’t feed us.
after cornfield gives way
to soybean field and
amber waves of wheat,
all i can think about are the bison
who ate and fertilized
this prairie, feeding
ten thousand generations
and yet
we destroy it
with unnecessary crops
feeding cattle that could
(and would) do the same as the bison.
as night gives in to day
we cross the border
and see cows in pasture
(home at last)
a truck with a Kentucky plate
(home at last)
and hope that one day
we will release
the native grasses
and allow the prairie
to be home at last.
ninety degrees, heading into the sun,
hour three of a dogged day’s drive.
my sweat gives in to my need for
some cool caffeine, even if it means
stopping at the food devil’s door.
i stand in line behind their typical customer:
400 pounds, greasy white hair,
pack of Marlboros tucked into its home
in his back pocket, he orders his
super-sized meal and waddles around
while the too-thin cashier rings it up.
i catch a glimpse (all it takes)
of his 4X gray T-shirt that
bubbles over his belly
like an ashy house dress.
“Fit for Life: Jesus Christ’s Gym.”
when i discover the latte machine is broken,
the irony leads me across the street where
i put $2.46 down on the gas station counter
for a canned Starbucks, the Indian brothers
taking my money, their heavy accents reminding me
of home, home, home.
it is not for this view of farms
with old wooden barns
in the early mist of morning
that i rise early and ride
(though it could be)
it is not for the excitement
of a road I’ve never traveled
its twists and turns leading me
into a maze of forests and fields
(though it could be)
it is not for the muscles in
my legs that have tightened
into circular mounds of strength,
carrying me endlessly without pain
(though it could be)
it is for them, three souls lined up
to lead a life that they will choose,
and in my silent guidance they will see
that there are many roads, many paths,
that will lead each of them to happiness.
they may appear to be innocent:
barns white as new fallen snow,
idyllic as Mother Nature on
this absent-of-traffic meandering road.
in the early morning light, you
won’t hear the muffled sounds of death
clucking their way out of the
forever-closed doors and windows.
yet for half a mile or more, a circle
of stench radiates into the dewy dawn,
asking only that you take this memory
with you to the chicken aisle of the market.
How to cope with a broken water heater
in a house with eight sweaty people:
one—swim in the backyard blowup pool
two—wash laundry in cold water
three—debate about the causes
four—boil water on the stove
five—ride your bike in 90/90
(degrees/humidity) for fifteen miles
and enjoy the sluice of ice cold water
that will wash away all your frustration
with the sweat that swirls down the drain.
Six—call the landlord and pray
(we are in Kentucky after all).
Life just the way I want to live it
even if it means
shooting out words
that no one else would say
because I’m me
and
I am wild
like the lions on the savannah
searching for food
that truly the cheetahs
have killed
but I’ll take it
if it means surviving
Life just the way I want to live it
even if it means
shooting out words
that everyone else wants to say
but won’t
I will because
I am wild
and no one can tame
the fire in my soul,
no one can bury this burden
of yearning that I hold,
so I must dig it out myself,
I must be myself.
Sometimes I wonder what has become of parents and their kids. I feel constantly surrounded by families who seem to think that their children, and their needs, come before everyone else around them. It’s not just the parents of the students I teach—in fact, this is rarely the case. I see it in the parents of kids who are the same age as my daughters. And the more exposure I have to it, the more it burns me up.
It begins with the questioning of authority. Teachers in particular. These parents seem to think that they should be running the classroom, and in effect letting their kids have no consequences for their actions. And if the teacher thinks for one moment he’s going to punish his students for their behavior, he’s got another thing coming. Those parents will go straight to the principal rather than taking the time to set up a meeting with the teacher.
What I would like to see is this: a teacher going into an office of one of these parents. Maybe he wants to read one of the reports they wrote. And when the report doesn’t satisfy him, he won’t make suggestions for editing and revising. He’ll mark it up in red and go straight to the parent’s boss, complaining about what a shoddy employee he hired.
It’s a perfect analogy, really. Is that the way to deal with a problem? To take your angst behind the “perpetrator’s” back and try to get that person disciplined? And what message does this send to our kids? That’s the part that’s beyond fucked up.
Scenario:
“Mama, Mr. Jones won’t let us have our holiday party because he said we misbehaved.”
“Did you?”
“Well, it was half my fault, but the other kids were being naughtier.”
“I don’t agree with that at all. You’re in first grade, and I don’t think it’s fair to cancel the holiday party because of a few rotten kids. I’m going to speak to the principal in the morning. Mr. Jones shouldn’t do that.”
Thoughts in the child’s mind: I don’t have to listen to Mr. Jones. He’s going to get in trouble. We didn’t do anything wrong. He’s the one who’s wrong.
So the next time Mr. Jones asks this child to behave, will he? To do homework, will he? To show respect for authority, will he? Why? What is his motivation? The parents have stripped all authority and respect from the teacher, and their message to their children is loud and clear: your desires, no matter how petty, are more important than the teacher’s rules.
It doesn’t stop there. The parents lavish these children with every possible gift imaginable and birthday parties that cost upwards of $500. They invite every student in the class, expecting gifts (some invitations even specify which type of gifts!!) from all of them of course, and then don’t send out thank-you cards. (There are always exceptions, but they’re rare). And they do this for their kids every year so that the kids come to expect it. It’s no wonder these kids misbehave in the classroom setting (and other settings): they are the center of the world, the selfish, gluttonous world they’ve been raised in.
What is a parent to do? How can I raise my daughters to understand that they won’t have a giant birthday party every year, that when their teacher sends them home with a note that the class was naughty, they’re damn well going to write a letter of apology, that the world does not revolve around them even though their classmates seem to have this impression?
In this consumer-driven, corporate-sponsored society we’ve created for ourselves, we seem to have overlooked some important details about humanity: mainly, that our lives shouldn’t revolve around silly parties filled with cheap pieces of plastic, nonstop gifts, and a total disregard for what is most important—human relationships. The same parents who go over the teachers’ heads to complain to the principal are those who are spoiling their kids in every way imaginable. And while they complain, while they shop, they are missing out on what I value most about being a parent: spending quality time with my children as a family, showing them that giving to those in need is better than receiving, that respect is a part of going to school, and it begins at the classroom door, with the teacher.
In the end, how will they turn out? What kind of adults will they become? Only time will allow this revelation. But at least I can go to bed every night without the guilty conscious of a parent of an over-indulged, disrespectful child. And no matter how hard I have to fight this battle as my children witness this disrespect and indulgence among their peers, I know that in the end they will be better for it, that in the end, we will win the war. Because once they enter the real world, they will already know that it doesn’t revolve around them.
Your happiness reaches through the screen
and pulls at my heart
three thousand miles away,
popping tears (first of joy)
(then of anguish) into my eyes.
You stand behind him
at his Aruban birthday meal,
matching grins and goatees,
your hands intertwined,
two boys as happy as
lonely children granted
a whole day to spend with mom,
two lovers granted
their wish of a life together.
I want to reach out and capture
the purity of your emotion,
the love that exudes from
a depth that They will never reach,
and show the world
just how right you are
(right for each other,
right to love the one
your heart tells you to love).
And as the tears creep into my eyes
every time I place your photo in my mind,
I know that I will continue to reach,
reach, reach for what I know is right
even as the anguished tears tell me
that They think I (you) (we) are wrong.
Definitions of shallow:
of little depth,
varying only slightly
from a horizontal line,
not capable of serious thought,
you.
You don’t agree?
With a click of a button
you eliminate all openness
from your life,
easily closing the door
on words that vary
only slightly
from your horizontal line.
I would try to pry you open,
but I am swimming
in the depths
of my own zig-zagging
serious thoughts,
unable to waste a breath
on lines that follow the
horizon into nowhere.
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