he scored seventeen
has a scholarship waiting
asks to leave class now
the minimum score?
twenty-one for survival
thirty-six: perfect
not even halfway
to the level of knowledge
for college-bound kids
but he’ll play football
that’s all that really matters
money, money, greed
meanwhile, i teach kids
who spend hours reading words
that will take them where?
the depth of a poem
the silence of acceptance
knowledge lost in games
red-letter day starts
with no meetings, extra plan
and ends with yoga
all baskets empty
week of copies, lesson plans
teacher’s piece of peace
students were pleasant
chess-club-induced quiet house
recharges my soul
soon they’ll bombard me
with high-strung voices of youth
different piece of peace
i’ll take the pieces
fit them into life’s puzzle
each day can bring peace
silent overturn
of a fragmented first day
shocked apologies
after thirteen years
of hearing broken English
poetry sounds bright
written by freshmen
whose voices i’ll discover
with this twist of fate
lattice top apple
laid by a baking expert
five years of hard work
culinary school?
kitchens of Denver and Spain
dough soft as her cheek
yes, she was just three
her first try in our kitchen
all to be near me
i can’t buy her dreams
or make Santa come to life
but i’ll give her that
another stressed day
just before Christmas bustle
lost to this sickness
tears fresh this morning
frozen pond glistening dawn
star-studded boathouse
guilt trailing my job
as he rushed home, two sick girls
and me? meetings, plans
she came back today
babyless, unpacking shelves
repacking her life
her despondence stung
i couldn’t leave her alone
burdened with boxes
we made plans, had lunch
I got your card, she told me
we’re not sending any
no family photo
for his first, never Christmas
(this is what i hear)
but she won’t say that,
leaves me lines to read between
your girls’ pic was great
her grief in all words
she tells of Christmas-free plans
prepared to move on
this i carry home
with oldest’s three earned awards
to my handsome chef
his job ends next week
i won’t worry who’ll nurse them
and make chicken soup
noodles fall from spoons
and girls, all better, delight
priceless remedy
now they’ll discuss me
what will he do now, and you?
i’ll have no answer
only the safety
of the home he makes for us
beyond what they see
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
there is no measure
for a refugee’s story
it starts where yours ends
to gather the words
thick Asian-Afro-accents?
world peace in ears
just open your heart
your eyes your gut, God your soul
and you will hear them
bleeding through parties
drives across suburban hell
and comedy works
you will hear their cry
their mothers’ and fathers’ cries
and yes, you will cry
it’s the cry that springs
open the dead ache inside
oft named white privilege
please, measure their words
bring back those crossed continents
good Lord, bring them home
pitiful attempt
to show the world justice
ditching the walkout
after school, they beg
for classwork i can’t explain
in four short minutes
but the ones who stayed
sit, work with me for hours
tackling learning
one interrupts us
asking where the food bank is
to feed his family
i’m taken aback
a perfect student, born here
why is he hungry?
then, the Taliban:
lost her mother in Iran
falling off a horse
social injustice
propels their failed walkout day
served up after school
a dish to take home
a harder bite to swallow
as schools save us all
flooded by piles
poorly-written papers burn
insides of my eyes
my stalking student
piles breakfast, lunch, dinner
always needing help
close and lock the door
is what the experts tell me
what if that were me?
i bring home piles
that pile bags under eyes
and work in silence
quick pasta dinner
vibrant girls’ homework piles
i rush to the gym
breathe in, then breathe out
my body piles relief
yoga saves the day
i learned there’s no guilt
like the guilt of motherhood
my Tuesday lesson
tossing and turning
don’t turn remorse into gold
they make me feel old
whispers in the hall
worse than when i was in school
oh wait–i’m here. school.
we mock others’ pain
forgetting our own swallows
mixed up with sorrows
three deaths, intervention
wrap up semester’s longing
for life, a new life
we all want sunsets
bright red-circle memories
to bring back our youth
then we’d be in school
that captive institution
we couldn’t flee from
my Tuesday lesson:
mouth shut, sunsets disappear
mouth open, truth shines
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