Call to Prayer

it isn’t church,
 but a Sunday morning sunshine ride–
 a line of bikes glistening in waning summer heat,
 with shout-outs as loud as a preacher who
 calls his parishioners to God:
 
 Bike up!
 Bike back!
 Slowing!
 Gravel on the path!
 Car up!
 Clear!

 
 the words trickle down the line,
 heated breaths repeating them
 so loud that even prairie dogs
 stand at attention to hear.
 
 and we wrap ourselves
 in blue-sky calorie burning
 led by a fast-paced 78-year-old man,
 just as forgiving for our
 missed turns and flat tires
 as the best of His missionaries.
 
 

Bricklaying

yesterday we learned about sod
 and homesteaders’ dreams being trampled by wind and hail and no water
 and how they were tricked into
 settling on free land.
 
 nothing is free.
 
 how they built brick by sod brick–
 tiny houses not much taller than themselves,
 and posed in front with shovels on the roof,
 no time to take them down for the picture–
 for what if it rained, or a snake crept in?
 
 yesterday i thought i was a teacher,
 and they were learning from me,
 my immigrant students building up their vocabulary
 brick by decoded brick.
 
 nothing is ever what it seems.
 
 today they entered and i asked them to write:
 describe challenges when you moved to a new place.
 
 and with the new words fresh on her tongue, she told me:
 just like the homesteaders,
 my family had to move to a new camp
 and my father had to build a sod house,
 no taller than that one in the picture.

 
 and so my student taught today’s lesson:
 one hundred fifty years later,
 we are still making bricks
 instead of trying to break them.
 
 
 

Map My Classroom

if you made the choice
 to love and welcome, not hate
 the world would change
 
 

Why I Teach

sometimes all it takes
 are some quiet lunch moments
 to feel it’s worth it
 

Turning Ten

weekend of parties
 (double digits come just once)
 baby’s growing up
 
 

Find the Fleeting Light

scaling these cliff walls
 feels easier than your words
 of guilt and judgment
 

 yet, rivers sparkle;
 ancients thrived here, not survived
 (just like you and me)
 

 too much to take in–
 the beauty of history,
 of sights still unseen,
 

 of children’s faces
 as youth clings as fleetingly
 as the setting sun
 

 we are captive here
 in these soft moments of light
 (help me preserve them)
 

Lost and Found

you couldn’t steal this:
 ancient homes, history learned,
 survivors by cliff
 

 or these sweet faces
 of my three girls, unafraid
 to face your world
 

 no, you can’t take that;
 my identity’s in words
 found here. not with you.
 

Day Twenty-Two, Road Trip 2016

our cycle closes

 with a capital bike ride

and a pointed view


with paths everywhere 

this city has won my heart

even in the heat


where honor presides

through a symmetrical stroll

of fallen soldiers


DC mixes all:

museums, monuments, paths

marking past; future.


we find ourselves here

remembering our lost dreams

in these reflections

Day Twenty-One, Road Trip 2016

a cultural mix
 in language, architecture
 (our country’s center)
 


library of all
 holds too many gems to count
 a sight for sore eyes


best of both worlds:
 fusbol, patatas bravas
 right here in DC
 


best of all worlds:
 my family together, here,
 discovering this.
 

Day Twenty, Road Trip 2016

in the man’s big house
 they built him a three-room suite;
 his children lived here:
 


remnants of slave life:
 hard-hitting and far-reaching
 (Black Lives Matter. Now?)
 
 they dug up red clay
 to lay every brick … by brick,
 by breaking their backs
 


his famous status:
 founder of freedom, writer
 (declared our country)
 


brick by brick by brick
 he laid his lies and kept his slaves
 and wrote our future
 


and we swallow it
 and throw coins at his gravestone
 and try to forgive
 


they all shared this view–
 from the big house; the slave house;
 the land formed by God
 


and so we move on,
 brick by brick by road by road
 to see its beauty