like a lost puppy
he waits every afternoon
hoping for some help
i enable him
wonder where his friends might be
knowing he has none
everyday struggles
of left-behind countries, wars
haunt my students’ lives
tomorrow, the same
i’ll give him the look; give in
heart too wrenched for no
i’ll carry work home
(not as heavy as his load)
pray peace will find us
extreme poverty
keeps parents from saving sons
live to work and die
but ten beats away
greed scalpels addicted souls
work to live and die
with I-dare-you stance:
If Congress has a problem?
Then just pass a bill
finally some guts
i’ve been waiting six years to
meet my President
to me, they’re my kids
being ripped from mama’s arms
that’s why i hear him
please just pass a bill
bipartisan human love
to connect us all
i give her the news
silent tears fall down her cheeks
worse than a tantrum
eleven years old
burden of being oldest
heavy on three girls
she carries their weight
lab rat for parental tests
what should we do next?
we drive the wrong way
arrive before she knows it
i favor her now
it is not too late
to undo this, to change schools
my peace offering
again, silent tears
on her face, trapped in my throat
i can deal with it
but should you have to?
the question that i don’t ask
(but i ask myself)
i’m going to stay
i don’t want to lose my friends
and there is my proof
hours of homework
detention for lost pencils
don’t compare to friends
i drop her off, drive
dawn’s light skids across the lake
as golden leaves fall
a sight so perfect
i want to drive back, tell her
take away her tears
mine are falling now
and i must let her decide
she leads, my oldest
if money could buy
the time i lost regretting,
would i be happy?
my biggest paycheck
untouched in the nursery
unswaddled bonus
its late-night crying
ignites a hole in my soul
but babes are fragile
even when nursing
they can fuss and search for more
easily cracking
my scarred nipple skin
tearing my hope inside out
leaving me empty
safe in its blanket
i will keep my money wrapped
while i nurse my dreams
Miss, why should i read?
Movies are so much better.
You see everything.
But what you can’t see
is the imagination
that invents the world.
Without reading books
who’d have written your movies,
given light to life?
fast-paced agreement
from Arabic-spewing mom–
he sighs, won’t give in
not five minutes pass
toothless, frumpy, loving mom
begs me to help her
why does her girl fail?
is it because of the shots
she saw as a child?
or her tent life,
her journey across the sea?
but what can we do
but cry out to God
and ask him to help us live?
then i remember
yes–a book i read
Wait–were you in Kakuma?
Yes–for nineteen years
tears swallow my throat
harrowing Lost Boy story
chronic refugee
sitting before me
(brutal book’s truth seeping in)
hope swallows her whole
i wish i could share
the beauty behind pages
that connect us all
if i could show him
the open-eyed life of words
oh, how he could fly!
ironic night ends
with her heart-wrenching handshake
pages of my book
Janis Joplin hair
might as well accept it’s mine
Happy Halloween
drive to edge of earth
that’s how far money stretches
there’s never enough
space, bedrooms, hardwood
three people and all their shit
spread suburban sloth
walkability
on a scale of one to ten?
tractor crossing sign
there is no number
to measure my distaste here
size shouldn’t matter
Americans Dream
big, better phallic boasting
in the shape of homes
American Dream:
be Janis Joplin–different
don’t let it kill you
only a kind heart
could compliment this lemon
alas, it still drives
It’s time to say goodbye. I tried editing. Removing posts. I started with the word drink as my post searcher.
Twenty-eight posts. (I might mention that I have 1,058 posts, the rest of which do not contain this word, but would it matter?)
During my search, I read about the beauty of my girls on a glorious Sunday. Of parties I’d had a great time at. Of weekend joy and love. Of coworkers having a moment of happiness after work.
And, gasp, about that awful thing that almost everyone I know does after work, but I’m not allowed to do since I’m a teacher.
This is one of the most frightening novels I’ve ever read. It bothered me so much when I read it, but even more now. I feel I share this room with Winston:
For some reason the telescreen in the living-room was in an unusual position. Instead of being placed, as was normal, in the end wall, where it could command the whole room, it was in the longer wall, opposite the window. To one side of it there was a shallow alcove in which Winston was now sitting, and which, when the flats were built, had probably been intended to hold bookshelves. By sitting in the alcove, and keeping well back, Winston was able to remain outside the range of the telescreen, so far as sight went. He could be heard, of course, but so long as he stayed in his present position he could not be seen. It was partly the unusual geography of the room that had suggested to him the thing that he was now about to do. (1.1.12)
I sit here now in my living room in Cartagena, Spain. I have spent the greater part of two weeks sharpening my résumé, rewriting my cover letter, and completing online applications so that I can bring my family home.
They are counting on me. Trusting me. Just as they did a year ago when I told them we were coming here.
I cannot let this writing, soul-fed, heartbreaking, ever-too-honest writing, keep me from providing for my family.
And so, just as Winston faced his biggest fear of rats, took his sip of ever-bitter gin and ended the novel with, “I love Big Brother,” I am going to have to concede.
Big Brother wins. I am taking down my blog. And with it, so many pieces of my heart that it will never beat quite the same again.
i can write a ten-minute poem
fingertips touched
with years of hesitation
i am not accustomed
to holding these reins
lost in college years
i never took advantage of
i drive the carriage now
as we gallop across new lands
their realism lit up with logic
while at home we count coins
they know me well
how cautiously i shake these reins
like kings of the same root
our horses will fly us home
Step Write Up 