i read her
sometimes misconstrued
words
that slap
our media-mocked society
with this
thick piece
of modern literature.
and i wonder
as i look at their faces
shuffling in and out
peaked smiles
defensive responses
invariable isolation
which one of you
i want to ask,
would take this horrid day
this horrid combination of days,
trap them in a bottleneck
until
the
whole
world
explodes?
how can the same child
who spat those awful words
now bang on my window
with an exuberant grin?
just as i will never be twelve again,
i will never quite remember
the complexities
of the young adult mind.
you want a set of different words
more complex than
the one i offer.
you may have a string
of compliments sitting pretty
on the poster they made for you,
but strangers’ mouths
could never put forth
what i see every day.
i wish i could wipe the words
you imagine i might say
right out of your mind.
our exchange is a hushed whisper
in this semi-dark classroom;
there is no space, no time
to envelop the elegance of thought
you put forth in everything
that you do for them,
that you ask them to do for you.
good may not be the response
you walked across the school to hear;
but just as i cannot define its significance
in the midst of the chaos i face
every time i leave your classroom,
i cannot define the perfect peace,
the depth of knowledge,
or the admiralty of your daily lessons
with any word, or words,
that would be adequate.
you were born for this.
where are the voters?
i’m waiting for your
slanderous commercial
against candidates
who can’t compete.
it will surely follow
your quick quips
and intelligent,
well-read responses.
your video clips
and “inspiring messages”
are lost upon us, however.
please keep in mind
that your three-minute experience
with Mandarin Chinese
does not compensate
your obvious inadequacies.
we see your vision.
it’s as bright as the sun
on the first day of summer,
reminding us why we shed
these hard-earned skins
and spend those glorious months
with our children.
that time is something you,
10-month-old and all,
couldn’t possibly fit
into your perfect PowerPoint.
don’t worry, Dr.
we’ll watch the video
of today’s presentation
on YouTube.
after a few beers,
your words will be like the Mandarin:
foreign, bubbles burgeoning
out of the sea,
waiting for the moment
when the commercial will end,
when the reality of your ignorance
will shine in the summer sun.
i have shoved
many a thank-you card
into the recycle bin,
skimming over the
cliches and turning
them into trash.
but this one,
this one i will keep.
it is not every day
that such a compliment
can fill every empty space
in my shadows of doubt.
it is only in your shadow,
of course, that the words
are even possible.
but they will stay with me,
forever inscribed in black ink
on my memory as i ask you back:
“What can’t you do?”
here they are,
a pink epiphany
of what we could have been
as you stand curiously
reading my poems.
how funny that you see
and don’t see me
in the same moment.
i mark their papers,
her papers,
in green felt pen.
she will thank me later
with her dry wit,
her handing over of lessons,
her listening to my ideas.
you give me the check
(less than last year)
and wobble your hips,
your smile plastered on lips.
i nod,
my own lips (for once) sealed.
because everything,
the papers,
the poems on the counter,
the music you and i both love
playing quietly on the computer,
you in your room,
i in theirs,
everything is in its place,
and there are no words
that can describe my gratitude
as you pass through the door.
you are like wasps
hiding in crevices
along the back patio,
swooping in to hover
around the barbecued flesh
that is meant for our mouths.
though we swat at your wings,
we know the stingers
are positioned, aimed,
ready for the bite
that will sacrifice your lives
in your haste for consumption.
in our hands we hold
the greasy meat
that could sustain us all.
if only you could feel
outside of your minuscule mouths
how tasty our coexistence could be.
am i really what you say?
do i hold the key you desire
to unlock unending questions?
i wish i could be the master of your domain,
the keeper of keys that would undo
every confusion you have inside you.
but as i trudge through these questions myself,
i find myself unable to unlock my own desires,
unable to open the door that leads to dreams.
perhaps i wasn’t born for this.
is it etched in my skin,
a tattoo of failure that follows
me wherever my words take me?
they pull me down,
anvils on the dock,
seagulls pecking at my skin,
offering the freedom i can’t have.
i wish my words could be the wings
that could carry me away
from the place where i’m inadequate.
where i could be real, in my own skin.
instead, they’re thrown back at me,
hateful darts into my skin.
if only i could pluck them out
and send them where my heart belongs.
i’m so thrilled to know
that the class i dread the most
has the neediest, rudest students.
i’m so thrilled to see
that every imaginable computer problem
will happen seventh period.
i’m so thrilled to hear
how well my not-quite-eight-year-old
understands sarcasm.
i’m so thrilled to know
that you think i need to read a book about defiance
so i can begin to put her in line.
i’m so thrilled to remember
why it is that she and i were not defiant.
fear is a great facilitator of submission.
i’m so thrilled to hear
the temper tantrums and talking back
that follow me everywhere i go.
i’m so thrilled to be
in this place i cannot escape from,
in this hollow where i don’t know who i am.
let me be thrilled
about something for real:
that you will never read this
(not knowing who I really am).
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