interrupting me
while i’m teaching them English
is just what i need
it began with needs
now they’ve met one hundred K
and brought these smiles
only my youngest
would agree to overalls
shared with her Mama
our shared high school life
is about to come to terms
with empty nest blues
with my one freshman
on the freshman-only day
Pashto English mix
my students need clothes
and “generosity lives”
is this store’s motto
sometimes we need hope
when the world feels hopeless
this student brings it
Here I am at home,
and he tells me not to take a pic,
that “it’s only an egg”
though a moment ago he said,
“we better move her or she’ll overcook”
and like precious cargo
he slides her onto the plate
still in his uniform
at the end of a long day.
a long day for a teacher–
for a human–
he sent me a text three-quarters into third period,
almost lunch.
“Two staff members shot at East High.”
three miles from my school
three million bullets into my heart
three months into 2023.
it’s only an egg.
it’s only a threat.
it’s only a gun.
so carefully, he cooks the sausage
(in a separate pan ’cause I won’t eat it)
Scene Three from a Marriage.
the marriage he allows me
where I can take this pic against protests
and write a poem that’s not a haiku
and wrap my arms in the love
that the boy with the gun didn’t have.
and only you,
you standing there tomorrow morning with me,
in front of my Newcomers,
in front of this American high school,
can feel that love bleeding through
through
through–
the love for that burst yolk,
that perfect yellow yolk–
the love the boy with the gun didn’t have.
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