she turns eleven
drama sits on morn’s doorstep
yet she cries so well
you’re almost convinced
you’ve met an Oscar winner
(perhaps someday… yes)
until then? she’s apes
for her newest birthday gifts
Grandma, Grandpa win
competition? no
just a constant lost battle
to be what she wants
ice cream brownie end
the day that marks her entrance
into my world
couldn’t taste better
than the likes she shares with me
my middle, my love
building challenges
hermit crab obstacle course
get ready to win
pancake characters
make Sunday Funday better
Yoda one for me
but blue, best of all:
skies to steal mountain town, hike–
like soft spun taffy
and you won’t have this:
spinning autumnal joy swing
her trapped in between
and you’ll never know
what it’s like to live for them
(to live inside joy)
and you just can’t see
how losing this would mean all:
girls, home, husband… life
’cause it’s not a park
with green lawns, blue skies, red leaves:
it’s my livelihood
you’re a pic undone
where the sidewalk ends, my friend:
(leaves fall. i blossom.)
midnight wake up call
evaluation nightmares
(scores that don’t suit me)
early morning grades
rush to school to hide from kids
and try to catch up
small knock at entry:
“Teacher, may I please enter?”
(a small scared boy waits)
“Are you new today?”
and his brother trails behind
with soft pink gloves on
“From Uganda, yes.”
my papers sit in piles
forgotten on desk
i show them downstairs
where free breakfast awaits them:
eyes big and grateful
“What brings you here, boys?”
they exchange frightened glances.
“For a better life.”
ungraded papers,
nightmares–they’re all meaningless
in comparison
at least they are here–
where with beauty they’ll begin
the life we all want
It is Sunday night, and I haven’t thought about you all weekend. You have been sitting in ungraded piles on the tables by the door of my classroom. You have been unread and unmarked emails that I have chosen to ignore. Because I am raising three kids. And I am raising thousands of kids. And I have to have a balance between the two.
Because Saturday was running from store to store to party to party to house to house to out to dinner to home/friends/love/hate.
Because Sunday was more running (to the Lego store) to appease my middle child who always feels a bit left out. And another party, and another set of meals to make.
Because I need to breathe for a moment and think about what is most important. Is it my administrator telling me she’s tracking our usage of tablets that don’t work half the time so she can send the data to the district? Is it the kids in my first period who have been pushed into lockers and called faggot/whore/freak/thot [that ho over there]/cunt and causing me to stop the entire lesson to beg me to listen?
Or is it my girls, who beg me to teach them cross-stitch and ask me to stay at the advisory party and want me to skate with them and want me to wake them up at 6:15 so that I can make pumpkin spice bagels and vanilla chai tea and spend a moment before work with them?
You tell me. Tell me how to decide. Tell me how I am supposed to carry the weight of a thousand students inside the hazel eyes of the three girls I gave birth to.
Because thirteen years in, I am still not sure.
Because it’s Sunday night, and I am sitting in my dream house, that, thirteen years in, I can afford. Because the candles are burning and the music is playing and my girls have gone to bed. Because I’ve had a few glasses of wine and I have thank-you cards to write and grocery lists to make and weekend plans to destroy and a thousand kids, including my own, to raise.
Because there is never enough time.
And that is why I write. Why I love them. Why I hate how much they take from me. Why I live for how much they GIVE me.
And why I will not live by administrative threats. By school district doomsdays. Why I choose to live by these small requests that pile up around me like leaves falling in autumn. “Do something, Miss.” “Listen to us.” “Take me to the mall even if you hate it.” “Stay at my party, please?!” “I need you to cover me up.”
Because we all need that soft touch. That quilt of love wrapped around all that is evil in the world. That mother’s love. For all the thousands of kids who have it, who will never have it, who long to have it.
That is why.
Sunday’s errands done
topped with spun October gold
touched by a rainbow
pie makes a Friday
shopping done, party waiting
seems so worth it now
at graduation
she begins, paper ready,
take a pic with me–
you’ve helped me the most
and you’re my favorite teacher
what i needed now
for all failed attempts
at being the dream teacher
now, she’s my starfish
(that favored fable
old man, beach, saving starfish
one throw at a time)
and i am observed
and my kids type their life tales
(no internet woes)
and i find the book
with audiobook to match
(my reluctant reader)
i read two chapters
she proudly tells me later,
Spanish class now done
and just like i guessed
there is always tomorrow
to shine its bright light
no sunset pictures
just sore legs from running fast
alongside my girl
never thought i’d see
any of mine take to sports
proud to trek along
though i might dread this
still hot, legs sore, lack of sleep
the view is unmatched
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