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.
humanity
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
Why I Teach
Turning Ten
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
Day Twenty-Two, Road Trip 2016
our cycle closes
with a capital bike ride
and a pointed view
this city has won my heart
even in the heat
through a symmetrical stroll
of fallen soldiers
museums, monuments, paths
marking past; future.
remembering our lost dreams
in these reflections
Day Twenty-One, Road Trip 2016
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















































