was this small reward
worth 200 work hours?
yes, yes, yes, fuck yes.
school
The Endless Cycle
shooting aftermath:
AP testing in mid-June
for suburbanites
the gun’s reach has wrath
stretching fifteen miles south
of where my home is
they shuffle in, grin;
calculators, pens ready
for a number game
but they’re missing one,
his seat echoed in “thank-yous”
as they shuffle out
they are just children
trying to grow up and catch
the world’s beauty
my tires spin home,
the grey ponds reflecting love
i cannot give them
Summer Break
weekday hiking joys:
mostly-empty trails with dogs
who love each other
uncompromised views
of our blue-sky perfect peaks
and wildflowers
best of all? no work
to big down miles of fun,
of escapism
There’s Still Hope
a new world view:
a high school stage set with love
inclusive of all
Even the Sunset Says So
Is there a prettier Denver sunset than this ‘red’ sunset over teachers rallying to strike??
I don’t know what you were thinking, DPS. Did you not realize you are a district in a union-led hotbed of liberals???
Did you think we were going to sit down and shut up??
We’re going to rally. We’re going to win.
Even the sunset says so.
Refocused
with a broken fridge,
limitations on dry ice,
and carpool circles
to pick up daughter
from uncalled-for punishment,
my Monday sucked ass.
driving home in rain,
she told me the whole story
and other teen truths.
then shared her essay:
perfectly satirical
(writer at fourteen)
the rain flooded us
and we laughed until we cried
knowing that truth hurts.
I Cry for his Loss
i cry for the card, for his loss,
for his Iraqi-Syrian past,
for all the burning hours of summer school
where he committed himself
to finishing high school in three years.
i cry for his words, for his loss,
his inescapable self that has hidden
a kind face in a chaotic classroom,
his sly smile catching my every
snuck-in witty remark
(even when no one else could).
i cry for the system, for his loss,
shuffled by our government’s wars
between homelands that stole his home,
for his pride in Iraqi architecture
that he may never see again.
i cry for his future, for his loss,
for how unequivocally kind his soul remains
after all he has witnessed in twenty-one years,
for his brothers who wait under his watchful shadow,
for our country to give him a chance.
i cry for his words, for my loss,
to not have his presence in my classroom,
to have the nicest thing anyone’s
ever written to me
disappear with a graduation ceremony.
i cry for the world, for their loss,
for robbing refugees of their rights,
for keeping the beauty that is him,
that is within all of them,
from sharing their strength
with all of us, inshallah,
for a brighter tomorrow.
