Day 5, Inspiration
Thank you for being with us these past four days (or however many you were able to join). Our next 5-day open write is December 12-16, with Glenda Funk and Jennifer Guyor-Jowett.
I have crafted our work for November’s 5-day #openwrite for educators to offer you a space for healing.
In this final day of our time together this month, I invite you to continue this path of healing by revisiting past #openwrites you may have missed or would like to revisit to find an inspiration that speaks to you today. Post the link to the past inspiration alongside your new poem in the writing section below.
As an alternative and in the spirit of naming harm and cultivating healing, I invite you and your students to spend some time before Thanksgiving break disrupting the myths of the first Thanksgiving.
Process
Judy Dow (Abenaki) writes, What is it about the story of “The First Thanksgiving” that makes it essential to be taught in virtually every grade from preschool through high school? What is it about the story that is so seductive? Why has it become an annual elementary school tradition to hold Thanksgiving pageants, with young children dressing up in paper-bag costumes and feather-duster headdresses and marching around the schoolyard?
She goes on to offer eleven (11) myths and facts about Thanksgiving here.
Choose one myth, and write a poem that names the harm and, in the spirit of healing, illuminates the fact. You might try the form you did not do yesterday. Yesterday, I suggested a nonet or a diamante.
You could also read any of these articles by one of my children’s literature mentors Debbie Reese and craft a poem based on what you learned or want others to know:
- Native Stories: Books for tweens and teens by and about Indigenous peoples, by Kara Stewart and Debbie Reese, at School Library Journal on August 20, 2019.
- “We Are Still Here”: An Interview with Debbie Reese in English Journal, in 2016.
- Critical Indigenous Literacies: Selecting and Using Children’s Books about Indigenous Peoples, by Debbie Reese in Volume 92, Number 6 of Language Arts (published in 2018).
- Twelve Picture Books that Showcase Native Voices by Debbie Reese in School Library Journal in 2018.
Sarah’s Poem
I decided to write a nonet because I wrote a diamante yesterday. And I decided to write a “found poem,” using language from Judy Dow’s article to shape this nonet.
A deep need to believe our roots are
not soiled by guilt. If we dare turn
the dirt, sowed violations
bloom truths untold. Excise
myths, rip falsity
from prose & verse
so truth-seeds
flourish
heal.
Your Turn
Your Turn
Now, scroll to the comment section below to write your own poem. (This is a public space, so you may use only your first name or initials depending on your privacy preferences.) Not ready? That’s okay. Read the poems already posted for more inspiration. Ponder your own throughout the day. Return later. And, if the prompt does not work for you, that is fine. All writing is welcome. Just write something. Also, please be sure to respond to at least three writers. Oh, and a note about drafting: Since we are writing in short bursts, we all understand (and even welcome) the typos and partial poems that remind us we are human and that writing is always becoming. If you’d like to invite other teachers to write with us, tell them to subscribe.
Found: corn prepared for us by the Almighty God
Stolen: our food and our future
Defaced: our past, our people, our memory
Victory: in 1637 year of our Lord
Massacre: 700 men, women, and children
Revered: Puritan narrative recorded in Bradford’s journal
Minimized: Wampanoag narrative and oral tradition
Healing: the result of positive change
Change: the stories I listen to and perpetuate
It took me more than the assigned day to process my thoughts and feelings about this “healing” prompt (and week). To echo those who have shared already, I am thankful for this space, this time to write and reflect, and this group of supportive poets. Special thanks to Sarah for leading and nurturing our collective healing. Until next month…. –BJ
I took inspiration from Judy Dow’s article and the this morning’s announcement over my school’s PA:
The cafeteria is serving a traditional Thanksgiving meal today of turkey and dressing with giblet gravy and cranberry sauce, yam patties, green beans, roll, and peaches. This meal is to recognize the first Thanksgiving meal between pilgrims and Native Americans. We hope that all students and staff will enjoy the meal being prepared.
We continue the pageantry well into adulthood
Retell the myths and retool the mistakes of generations past
As we create buckskin from paper bags
As we count our blessings on hand-shape turkeys
As we honor the black and white simplicity of “pilgrim” play-actors
We ignore the fundamental hypocrisy of the “Saints,” the “Separatists”
Glorify their sacrifice and aggrandize their sanctity
As they stole corn and ravaged graves
As they brought disease and guns and Hell
As they repurposed the land from the heathen natives
We neglect the wild lands
Forget the names of the Wampanoag and disregard the grace of Massasoit
As they presented two arrows: one blunt and one pointed
As they supplanted weapons for five deer and wild fowl
As they shared the natural bounty of plums, grapes, berries, and melons
We ignore the warnings and science
Doomed to repeat our history and remediate our failed lessons
As we travel across county and state lines
As we share pumpkin pie with mixed households
As we say “grace” over our turkey and dressing with giblet gravy and cranberry sauce
How often
Are we
Thankful
For being
Spared
What others
endure?
Thank God,
WE are not
Sick like
Fill in the blank.
At least
WE are
Not alone.
WE have
Each other.
We thank
God for
Blessing US.
At least
WE have
A roof
Over OUR
Heads.
Mercy
Katrina – Yes, I have felt these very words in the recent months. The phrase “how often” is important here, as we use and hear these phrases throughout our lives, though the current enormity of mess in our nation really echoes with these words, as the margin of “being spared” grows more narrow each day… as we are wounded as a nation, as teachers, as women… lots of healing to do. Thanks! Susie
Katrina, I suffer from this same quandary…I have been reading a lot about comparative suffering. Your poem reminds me of all the aphorisms I hear from colleagues and family members…the well-meaning posts on Facebook that are a bitter substitute for true empathy. I think the ending of your poem is perfect…”Mercy”…I can almost see the head shake or hear the sigh that accompanies the line. Thank you for sharing your poem with us!
If anyone would like to form a Sarah Donovan fan club, I volunteer to be president.
Thank you, Sarah, for another month of inspiration and, frankly, love.
Writing with this community asks/invites/challenges me to practice the vulnerability teachers demand of students day in and day out.
It asks me to respond to writers not as their evaluator, but as their empathetic reader.
This is then reflected in how I respond to my student writers. I find myself taking the practices and attitudes from this monthly gathering into my classroom as I teach.
I hope you feel the ripples of your work
I have CashApp and Zelle to pay my membership!!! I’m all in and I’m a great encourager for anyone who isn’t sure if they’re ready to pay the fees. LOL. But yes, I’m all in!
I need some like and heart buttons for this comment, so I’ll create my own. ❤️❤️❤️???
You bet, Allison!! Sign me up! Sarah has created something remarkable here! Every month I am buoyed with the power of the voices here, the capacity to find common ground, respect, and new strength as writers and educators. Rah! Rah! I’m in! Susie
I’ll subscribe to the Sarah D fan club, too! The warm, inviting, and nonjudgmental “vibe” Sarah has created is a work of love. I am humbled to participate (as her older sister and a nontraditional teacher):)
A found poem (an abandoned nonet)
from “We Are Still Here”: an Interview with Debbie Reese
Early 1900s
Native parents wrote
to Chicago schools:
their children were being asked
to read derogatory works.
2016
Awareness
but not the depth necessary
to do
justice.
“We are here”
Sovereign nations.
Superficial change
is
meaningless.
Allison,
The stark contrast in the years you mention shows just how cautiously we allow that arc toward justice to bend. Society will always fight against it. “Superficial change / is / meaningless.” is so powerful. Thanks for speaking out today with your poem.
Allison – I love the voice here, the stance of honesty and calling out the years that have shown the disgrace of “superficial change” that doesn’t even begin to heal what our native peoples have endured. You hammer this with “awareness but not the depth … to do justice.” We continue as oblivious bystanders to our native peoples’ wounds to lay shame on the doorstep of our history. What is most important here is that as an educated community of teachers, we have the voice in poems like yours to disrupt that oblivion, to change the years ahead, to act through our writing and teaching. It’s amazing what your “found poem” can do. Thank you, Susie
Despite the dog-tiredness of a post-grading frenzy, I am dragging myself back here because of the reading from Judy Dow – I know her! She’s an excellent teacher and I still use a basket I wove with her every day to hold my markers. I look forward to her actually visiting our school, like we had planned pre-COVID. Anyway, had to honor the coincidence of seeing a good human recognized by putting something out here. This is a “skinny poem” that I messed with.
Prescriptions
Tums
Advil
Chicken soup
everyday healing
rest
hugs
creation
ordering pizza
healing a long day
truth
play
hope
breaking bread
honoring all
healing community
Emily, thank you for DRAGGING yourself here! I cherish the “push” this community gives me to write poems for five days a month. It’s often a struggle, but I love looking back on a year of crafting 50+ poems.
I loved how sharing pizza became breaking bread. Chicken soup is a healing image (smell) we all need tonight.
Thank you.
I like the three stanzas with various kinds of healing, Emily. I especially like the community healing stanza. Yes, indeed! Great job dragging yourself here today.
Em — You are a force, my friend. Coming to this space to share your poem and feel the healing of it really is a bit of teacher/writer magic. “Skinny” feels fat and juicy here, as you selected really meaty medicines in your “prescriptions.” Every single one of these is a healer. I’d pick a favorite, but then I’d rewrite the whole poem. This is just right! Thank you for getting your poem out here tonight! Susie
Emily, I like how your poem honors the everyday and often mundane ways we try to “heal” ourselves…they still hold so much power. I hope you continue to find some hope and healing! Thank you for sharing your poem with us!
Sarah, I have had a week that feels never-ending, but your prompts and this community of brilliance have given me a quiet retreat at the end of the night. I really felt the love from YOU with each prompt, mentor text, and inspirations. You’re such a gift to us. Thank you!
Today, I wrote a nonet also since yesterday I enjoyed writing my diamante. I’ve felt the burdens of parent conferences in a virtual setting, the anticipation of a week off for the holidays, and a much needed break from planning and screen time. Here’s my poem and hopefully it’ll be my own medicine that I take after Friday!
Healing
Giving of self one hundred percent
Half-ass of anything, no way
But losing sleep and peace, ughh
Believing this will change
Burdens I bear, break
Breathe and balance
Beginning
Today
Heal
© Stacey Joy
You’re an inspiration, Stacey. I love all the B alliteration in this poem. It bounces me along. The sound itself offers buoyancy in this hard time.
Wishing you a week of balance and healing. <3
Stacey, every line is relatable. Conferences are coming up- they will be challenging. We carry so much with us all the time. Last night I woke myself up screaming with night terrors. Why? No idea. What I’ll take with me tonight is, “Beginning today heal.” Thank you!
Stacey, I do pray you can begin today to heal and recuperate over the week-long holiday. Your first lines show the dilemma of never giving in and never giving up., but at what cost? You have expressed this well. Take care!
Stacey,
The repetition of /b/ in bear, break, breathe, balance, and the other words replicating that sound fall on the ear as something agin to grunting from pushing so hard w/ all the strength one can muster. For me this gives the effect of struggle. Then the hope of healing at the end is such an emotional release. May you experience that healing release this next week away from screens.
Yes, Stacey — a healing poem! The descending order of the nonet brings momentum with the repeated Bs and carries a cadence as if marching down a hill… or maybe carrying a heavy burden and throwing off the weight line by line. Dang, you’re good even as a exhausted, late-night writer! Whew! Way to go, girl!! Hugs, Susie
I think I have rewritten this about four different times–it’s become some strange amalgamation of all 4 works (which means I’m not very happy with it–I feel like the message is muddled). I have been working on a lesson about reparations to go with Stamped. If you haven’t seen Winona LaDuke speak on apology and redemption or Will Smith talk about the difference between Fault and Responsibility, I recommend both highly. It is possible that I have too many thoughts to narrow it down to a tightly controlled poem. In the end, I keep coming back to a quote I have posted in my classroom. I hope this offers something to the conversation at least.
Terrible and Tragic
“We…are all in the same boat upon a stormy sea. We owe each other a terrible and tragic loyalty.” –G.K. Chesterton
The waters are boiling, the sky is bleak
The fog is frigid, no one dares to speak
Below the waves, a churning deep
Of monstrous fathoms only death can reap.
The Captain’s slain, the pilot lost
Their bones interred, in tempest tossed.
Fear and Dread are the helmsmen now;
we know the rocks await our prow.
We’re not alone upon the wake;
The ghosts cling tightly to our rake.
How many ships have run aground–
The countless souls of numbered drowned?
How can we redress the wrongs done here,
when the weight threats to topple the bier?
No fault expressed for which to atone,
yet responsibility is ours alone.
My hands did not create this mess
yet, such knot will sails oppress.
No wind will take us sailors Home,
but left alist, moored in the foam.
Beware the shoals of Pride and Hate,
Lest you sink inside the narrow strait.
A blood-red sky, a sea run red,
Beware the waters where monsters tread.
Andrea, for me your poem evokes a feeling like that of some of the 19th century masters. Your rhyme and rhythm are spectacular. When I read your poem I am reminded of how much I need to work on those areas when I tell a story. The one word I keep coming back to is haunting.
Wow, Andrea. You did a lot of work here. The mood really is haunting, and the form is so strong. Like Mo said, it’s reminiscent of an old poem. The capitalization for “Pride and Hate” and “Fear and Dread” help cement that image for me too.
As Chesterton said, we are all in the same boat. And MLK–No one is free, until all are free. So we need to get in the ship and make amends, or we can’t go Home.
Wow! That is haunting.
Sarah — Thank you for all the amazing prompts. It was a crazy week, so I wasn’t able to tackle all the prompts. My mind was just too muddled. I do hope to revisit them in slower days.
Thanksgiving: Unabridged
Landed at Plymouth seeking fortune
religious freedom mere sidenote
theocracy true mission
truly no alliance
no mashed potatoes
only mourning
only death
and lies
STOP!
Tammy, I am glad you were able to find the time and space to write and share this poem with us. I like how the nonnet form focuses our words—you drill down to the most necessary point and message. My favorite lines are
Sarah,
Yes, thank you for your thoughtful and creative ideas and inspiration. I really enjoyed trying my hand at writing this week! You are a beautiful being…
Embarrassed to hear truth of our past
Unsure how to apologize
Lies are easier to hear
We can’t handle the truth!
Yet is must be told
so that all know
Ignorant
Selfish
Shamed
Libby, “unsure how to apologize” – and the pain that we endure all because of it. Promises made, disappointments and heartaches……what truths you share!
Libby — Truth! It is disheartening that so many digest the lies and never look beyond. Love the power of the last three lines: “Ignorant/Selfish/Shamed”
What is healing?
What is fixing?
What is mending?
Stitching together
making whole
feeling renewed
giving grace
receiving it as well.
Breath.
One day at a time.
Heal your heart.
Jordy,
I love that you started with three important questions. I know I need to consider some fixing. Aging parents often keep us in a constant state like this.
Yes, “One day at a time” that is the only way we will all heal. Love the hope at the end of this piece.
Jordy, you’ve patched together all we’ve experienced this week in our writing. The wonderful prompts have been thought provoking, as are your words.
Sarah, thank you for this beautiful week of writing. Each day brought respite and felt like a friendly embrace. It was the perfect way to begin each day, and I greatly appreciate the care you took in composing this week of calm and care. Be well, my friend!
Here is my healing haiku.
How to heal when the
divide is immense- we move
forward together
Oh, Mo! I love, love this! “We move/forward together” — it really is the only way to heal.
Yes, Mo! Together! You nailed it! Susie
Prophetic words for a wounded nation…this is truth with great imagery, Mo!
This posted before i was finished
Mo — Sometimes the divide seems so wide but you are right we need to “move forward together”.
Yessss!! This is exactly what I needed! Thank you!
“Thanksgiving”
Empathy, something no one should lack
May we acknowledge the truth of
our history. May we teach
empathy in our schools.
Homes, hearts that aren’t ours.
Listen, and hear.
This land was
and is
theirs.
Empathy is so what we need right now! Not only should we teach it, but we should strive to model it as well. I appreciate your creative framing of Thanksgiving. Thanks for sharing!
Madison, I felt this poem in my core. Empathy is so important and you worded it so beautifully. “Homes, hearts that aren’t ours… This land was and is theirs.” So good!!
Madison, what a beautiful poem with such an important message. For me empathy means so much! Extending that concept to students is so important as well as truly listening! Right on!
“Listen and hear” — Yes, I wish there were more people listening. I love the message of empathy in this poem. It is truly what our world is lacking.
Madison, right on!!!
I hope one day everything stolen is returned 100-fold!
It’s interesting, Sarah, that you pose this look at the Thanksgiving myths just a couple of weeks after Columbus Day/Indigenous American Heritage Day. My husband and I watched a documentary that unveiled historical documents and policies that help explain why Native American history has been whitewashed and a lie, that Columbus discovered America, has been perpetuated. And, my book club just read Louise Erdrich’s THE NIGHTWATCHMAN.
Here’s a summary of what I been learning these past few years as Native Americans have been protesting across the country for rights to their land.
Turkey, cluck, cluck cluck!
Who taught who to do what and why?
Part of the American story is that immigrants from Europe improved life for indigenous people who lived here.
Caucasians came to civilize Indians so they can go to heaven.
Whites came to educate red folks so they can raise their standard of living.
One church group even says, if you convert to our religion you’ll become white!
That’s just not right. So, Native Americans have joined the fight.
Cluck, cluck, cluck, with a little luck
Natives will begin to share in the reasons Europeans came here from there!
Freedom to live in harmony with the land, and with others who understand.
Anna,
Thank you for the book mention. I’ll add that one to our list, too. “Who taught who” is my favorite line in your poem. This is such a deep question.
Anna — Thank you for your poem. This topic is one I have been exploring as well. My students recently read Code Talkers and while it is set during WWII, it really illustrates the mistreatment of Native Americans who were forced to assimilate. Your line “One church group even says, if you convert to our religion you’ll become white!” really drives home the message of your poem. I agree “That’s just not right” !
Thank you, Sarah, for a wonderful week of prompts causing reflection, introspection, and learning new skills. I am grateful for this safe platform to digest and express! You are all so gifted. It’s a pleasure to read everyone’s heartfelt lines. Yesterday I wrote my first diamante so today I wrote my first nonet duo.
Only the Truth
By Nancy White
It’s up to us to pass on stories
Will they be truth or biased lies?
Will we whitewash or choose sides?
I only want the truth
“Just gimme some truth,”
Said John Lennon.
Imagine.
Only.
Truth.
No.
Made-up,
fictitious
stories of thanks
for white men so kind,
Jesus to savages!
No— you tell it right this time
Stories that cast blame, and cause pain
Naked and ashamed so we can heal.
Nancy, your poem shares the truth so powerfully! Yes, stories do harm! I liked how you framed these stories in the opening, what kind of story will we choose to tell? Awesome! Telling the truth for so many seems impossible. Taking responsibility for one’s actions seems even more difficult. I loved the reference to John Lennon’s song “Imagine”, such a beautiful song! Your final line “Naked and ashamed so we can heal” is completely on target! Magnificent poem! Loved it!
Nancy,
I can’t help but think about Adiche’s TED talk “The Dangers of the Single Story” as I read your poem. There’s a Derek Walcott poem about an old storyteller that comes to mind, too. I love the John Lennon reference, which took my mind to the line from “A Few Good Men,” “You can’t handle the truth.” Yes, we have responsibilities in our telling of stories.
Nancy, I concur with you and other responders.
Glenda, your reference to the movie line, “You can’t handle the truth,” is so true about many of the social, political, historical, and racial topics that have arisen during this pandemic!
Thankfully, however, enough readers and viewers have remained open to learning both the what and the why of our history that I remain optimistic that social justice will become a reality for us all!
Sarah,
Your prompts have indeed been salve during this first full-week of virtual teaching. Oh, how flexible we have become! But at what cost??
seekers
we seek to be filled
in various ways
through exercise
through philanthropy
through shopping
through sex
through music
through work
we seek to be loved
in various ways
through innocence
through manipulation
through mystery
through blood
through touch
through fellowship
we seek to be healed
in various ways
through therapy
through forgiveness
through reconciliation
through comfort
through amnesia
through placebo
fulfillment
love
healing . . .
aren’t they all just
tangled in a skein
of connection
looking to be
knit into an afghan
of warmth?
~Susan Ahlbrand
18 November 2020
Your words ring true. How we seek fulfillment, love, healing in a human connection. I love the image of these knit into an afghan.
I wanted that lady line to say “of comfort”
Can’t figure out how to revise.
That last line! “tangled in a skein of connection looking to be knit into an afghan of warmth.” Beautiful!
Wow, Susan. I love the uncovering that you do leading us into the rhetorical/true question you posed in the final lines: “aren’t they all just/tangled in a skein/of connection.” Yes, you have them neatly listed in each line but that is not how they exist, persist. We are so much more complex and “knit.” So powerful.
Sarah
Lovely analogy, Susan! I love the skein of connection and the warmth of the Afghan. I like how you show all of the ways we seek fulfillment, healing, and love. That use of the placebo….what a thought!
Thanksgiving
We want to look good,
to whitewash a tragic past.
It’s time to wake up.
Amen!
Sharon, you sure tell it straight here! Agreed!
Preach. That white washed past harms all of us.
Sharon,
Proof that the simplest words pack the biggest punch.
Sharon, yes! Wake up and #staywoke ??????
Amen! Terse verse. True blue!
Sarah, this has been a beautiful and healing five days! I am so grateful for your inspirations this month, and for this poetry community. Thank you!
hurting
Indigenous, American
terrorizing, displacing, racializing
disease, abuse, transparency, justice
examining, rethinking, transforming
acknowledgeable, thorough
healing
I love this, Maureen. A very straightforward description of the direction our country needs to go in. I read this morning that Biden is considering appointing Deb Haarland, a native American, as Secretary of the Interior. I hope we see positive changes like this…
Maureen,
I deeply appreciate your presence here and your trust in this space to share your poetry and heart these past few days. This poem is so striking its form and economy of word — the diamante really gets us thinking about speech parts and word order, right? I am hovering over the word “acknowledgeable” — it is staying with me for all the syllables, unpacking them.
Peace,
Sarah
Maureen,
I just started reading Eric Gansworth’s memoir “Apple: Skin to the Core” yesterday, and your poem mirrors so much of his story. The words that capture our history Best are “terrorizing, displacing, racializing.” I really struggle w/ the holiday traditions and need to revisit that NYT article about why NAs celebrate Thanksgiving.
Maureen, I agree with your beginning statement of how much healing has occurred in its own way throughout these past 5 days. I agree with the direction you are seeking our nation to go. Beautifully worded!
From hurting to healing, with chosen words that show feeling that sends us kneeling in thanks for Thanksgiving.
We have time to thanks each contributors for speaking truth in love!
Maureen, I like that you centered the experience of Indigenous Americans first before talking about how to go about healing. The first step in healing is witnessing, listening, and acknowledging what has caused harm. Thank you for your honesty and hope.
Well, I keep getting “SyntaxError: Unexpected token A in JSON at position 1” when I try to upload today’s poem, and I honestly thought I had that checked out when I went into my doctor last time. Yearly physical? Check. Flu Shot? Check. Are your JSONs in place? No unexpected tokens? Nope. Check.
So, let’s try this. Sorry, for the extra clicking to get to today’s offering.
I love your humor! This was fantastic, even before I saw the poem. And, yes, I love the poem, too! These lines are so insightful about all couples, whether lobsters or humans –
which is more important? which comes first? how to have both?
I could truly imagine those lobsters climbing over one another! What a frightening and humorous memory!
At first, I thought this was your poem — I can see how it is! I am sorry for the syntax error — the literal and figurative, and I love the meta moment of going elsewhere to find your poem!
The images I get in your poem are so vivd. The lobsters trying to help each other out of the pot! The bonding you and your wife have as soul-mates with these lobsters tell me you certainly are there for each other after a “taxing” situation. Good writing. Thanks.
Scott, honestly, you make me feel so sorry for those lobsters. I’m in awe of how you turned this narrative into such a loving and beautiful poem of self-sacrifice. (Heart melt!)
Compromise
Frustration gurgling inside
I tried
Not wearing a mask
a task?
Claustrophobic you say
dismay
A mask, you must!
Adjust!
I feel resentment
no contentment
Afraid to be near
have fear
Wish to understand
not brand
Are you rebelling?
Need quelling
Could be passing disease
Geez!
Won’t you recognize?
Compromise?
Your wish respected
not deflected
Your phobia I accept
except…
Still your friend at a distance
resistance.
______________________________________________
Thanks for all the prompts, learning, challenges and newness given to me these last five days. I visited some poetry forms that were given before I was writing with this group. Today is the Echo poem.
This echoes all the stressful perspectives about mask-wearing in a witty, clear way!
Susan, Your poem encapsulates the fear and frustration
with its short lines of monologue given in an almost staccato feel. I am right there with you in this.
The echo poem is so cool here — such a musical quality — and it impacts the tone, too. I am struck by how the form impacts meaning and, well, the reader, too. Just so cool!
Sarah
Susan,
This is a wonderful echo poem. It really captures the debate and illogical responses of those who don’t mask up.
This poem is so creative. Your rhymes are wonderful and your message is clear!
Susan, the rhyming in your poem is just perfect! It makes reading it flow, I specifically like the last few lines specifically, “Your wish respected not deflected/ Your phobia I accept except… / Still your friend at a distance resistance.”
Cleverly done, Susan! You capture so many of the positions in such a fun way!
How cleverly you combined focus on topic, with echoes and rhymes. A triple win! And such a positive end, friend.
SCARRING
When the derm dr said,
“This one looks, well,
let’s get rid of that,”
she offered a simple fix,
stealthy scalpel,
before I could flinch,
she was cutting,
slicing away the cells,
smearing them on a slide
or whatever that was,
off to be tested.
Of course, after all that sun
in days before SPF,
with all that albino-white skin
just like dad’s,
lacking the mojo to battle the sun,
I registered that phonecall as a wake-up;
Susan, you have to get back to the dr
so she can get rid of that spot
on your chest,
like an arrow
pointing to your heart.
Chattering at sprint speeds,
the derm dr matter-of-factly stated,
“This is Stacy (or was it Heather?), my…
I didn’t even hear
who the young woman in the lab coat was,
but she immediately zap-froze my basal cells
and proceeded to dig in
for the roots of that evil,
as my derm dr slipped
out of the room.
Cringing, wincing, I sat there
on the roll-out tissue-covered lab throne,
hoping to hell this kid
…was she 18, maybe 20….
I couldn’t tell,
but she was fast and determined —
I hoped to hell
she knew what she was doing;
“I’m going to err
on the side of being thorough,”
she announced
as she scraped and gouged.
“There. That should take care of it.”
I agreed, “Yes, better to be safe”;
before I could bear to look down
to see what was what,
a tight bandage was stuck
on my chest.
“Don’t wash this for 24 hours,
and then no soaps…. “
her voice trailed off
in the litany of post-operative procedures.
I have no clue what she said.
But she handed me a small square of paper
with typed instructions for tending the wound.
For six months
I heeded the protocols,
daubed the ointments,
followed orders.
But healing looked raw, red,
like a mistake.
At the follow-up,
my dr looked for a bit at my chest,
“Hmm, how long has this been?”
“Six months now;
and it doesn’t seem to be healing.”
“Oh, it’ll heal up;
just use this ointment
every morning, every night.”
Six months after that,
on cue I returned,
“Doc, this still looks pretty awful.
It’s bumpy and bulging,
and surely that’s
not right, is it?”
“Oh, I can fix that.”
Like a wild cat
who knows how to heal
her own wounds,
she leaned to my chest
with a needle,
injecting who knows what
in several places
around the edges of the scarring,
then stepped back.
In doctor-ese
she rattled off
words that baffled me entirely …
“…this will be fine, it was a…
The scarring will settle down now.
You’ll heal up just fine.”
That was a year ago.
Yesterday, at the derm dr’s office
that I finally braved in the Time of Covid,
my term for a year wasting away from my life,
I sat for a full-body exam;
she and I returned
to the scar on my chest,
now almost a muted murmur
of my body history,
the fear of the errant cells
now dissipated,
all but gone.
Healing is an individual thing.
Scars from our wounds
do what they must,
bubbling, twisting, amorphic.
When we’re lucky,
when time has its way,
they become vague badges
of our healing.
by Susie Morice©
Susie! Susie! I was/am captivated, listening, bearing witness to the narrative unfolding so fearful of what you were leading up to, so worried. I didn’t anticipate the metaphor here, the lesson you would offer us about time and healing and wounds – -though I knew the topic for today.
And now I am struck by the final lines
Wondering if I want the vague and/or the badge. Wondering if they can or should be both. Wondering the value of a scar. Lots of wondering..
Peace,
Sarah
Susie, wow, I was on the edge of my seat while reading this, waiting for the next horrible thing to happen. You were definitely on my mind yesterday as I never found a poem from you. I can relate to the whirlwind of things that happen in an exam room. I like how you use this experience to share the message of healing. “Bubbling, twisting, amorphic” such perfect words to describe the process. Loved “Healing is an individual thing.
Scars from our wounds
do what they must,”
Thanks for sharing this important message so poignantly. Stay safe, Susie!
Susie,
I needed this poem today. Without going into details, I recently learned of a new wrinkle in my health profile, so this dialogue w/ your doctor resonates. From the scene with
capturing every doctor’s office in the country, to the muffled and incomprehensible instructions, you’ve given us a universal experience. That last stanza is a real epiphany.
Susie, thank you for sharing this experience. It’s unfortunate how many people go through something similar when they meet with their healthcare providers. I can feel the sterile room and the apathetic eyes.
Susie, the whir of the treatments and the worry of the effects give a pace and tone of a medical office where we hear bits and pieces of what is being told to us. And we worry …..then we celebrate when there is healing! I’m glad you have your badges!!
Susie,
You pulled me through, keeping me on the edge of my seat wanting to know what happened. The “vague badges of our healing” is such a powerful ending.
Oh my, Susie! I wasn’t sure if I was going to have to stop reading mid-poem and call you or what! Such vivid imagery and emotions all packed into a poem that read more like a short story. I already know you are a warrior so the badges of your healing are no surprise. You’re a Shero, a Badass, and a Phenomenal Poet!
“when time has its way” is a message worth saving. We all need to relax and allow time to have its way.
?Hugs and love!❤️
Stacey
Thank you, Stacey and Sarah and Glenda and Barb and Libby and Susan and Kim. — the support you each provide through your own poems and in your responses really are the healing that happens in this creative, compassionate space. Writing is the power tool in my life, but your supportive response really keeps my heart centered in the tissue that binds this community. I wish you each a healthy, safe, healing Thanksgiving, and I look forward to our writing together in December. Susie
Sarah, this is so good! I love the extended metaphor that you’ve crafted of the “deep need” for “our roots” to not be “soiled by guilt” and the “truth-seeds” that need to “flourish” so they can help us “heal.”
So, thank you, Sarah (for these wonderful prompts this “go around” and for your amazing mentor poems) and for you, too (that’s the plural “you” this time — you, who worked on these prompts, read these poems, and let them into your lives this past week). This website really is an embarrassment of riches. There is so much good stuff here: good poems, good fellowship, good vibes! And I am truly thankful for this!
Sarah, thanks for your poem and encouragement to revisit Thanksgiving myths. The article by Dow was helpful. I love the image in your poem of daring to turn the soil and let the injustice that was planted bloom to help the truth-seeds grow. It is a beautiful nonet that you found and crafted.
I got lost for a while in the first prompt. What a great collection of all the prompts from this poetry community! For mine today, I went to April 1, 2019, and wrote a poem with the prompt “What is Good?” Techniques to try–repetition and dashes. I also was inspired by your truth-seeds to plant peace seeds in my poem. I started writing about my own work because I was recently given a compliment that I put myself into my work, and do it excellently, no matter how mundane. Then I was convicted as I kept writing that there is too much good work left undone, and I need to really get to work.
Good Work
Good work–
Work, purposeful work,
Work that builds,
Not diminishes
I work with all I am–
Never just punching a clock
But I pour myself into the work
Good work–
Work, created especially for me
Good work assigned
Work and care for Eden, Adam
That was God’s directive
That is God’s directive to me
Good work–
Work, better than you did
Yesterday
Take care of the earth
Work to heal
To bring Her
Back from defilement
Take care of people
Work for justice
Repent
Plant peace–
Seeds of peace, that have
Not been planted–
Yet
Good work–
Work good
Get ready
Do good work
And get into
Good trouble
I love your poem with its repeated work ethic. It is badly needed in this day and age.
Work and care for Eden, Adam
That was God’s directive
That is God’s directive to me
This is especially powerful.
Denise, I so love the beautiful power of your poem. The motivation to continue to work hard and to do good rings true throughout. Your end is what I love most “And get into/Good trouble”….ain’t that the truth! Bravo to you!
A Name By Any Other Name
Name them.
Rename them.
Call them what you will.
The naming of things
doesn’t change
what is.
Those we call Pilgrims
are not,
in fact,
making pilgrimages.
American Indians
are not from India.
It’s not likely thanks
was being given
on Thanksgiving.
Labels.
Brandings.
Tags of Separation.
“What’s in a name?”
Juliet once asked.
That which we call Thanksgiving
Should taste as sweet.
Jennifer, wow, I love the way this poem flows. Showing how naming things doesn’t change truth is so insightful. I also enjoyed the allusion to Romeo and Juliet. Your end is ironic and carries a powerful punch! I keep thinking about “Tag of Separation” …wow, that is so spot on and “OUCH!” Brilliant poem!
Jennifer — Yes! This is really a poem that you must share with your students! You do right by Sarah’s prompt today. Wonderful! My fave:
Important poem. Thank you, Susie
Jennifer, you wrote this clever poem that puts into words what I was thinking. Yes, the Pilgrims were not pilgrims and the Indians not from India and no one gave thanks. “Tags of separation.” Yet, there was a gift of venison and a short time sharing. We must own the damage that was done to the native Americans. I’m thankful that the myths have given us a day to give thanks.
I love the reference to Shakespeare in this poem. These connections really make me want to read more and more. There is a certain flow to this poem as well, I didn’t want it to end. A line that stuck out to me was “Tags of separation” wow. Tags. Something that should only be assigned to objects- never people! So meaningful and deep. Thanks for sharing.
Jennifer,
There’s an essay in “Black Dignity in a World of Whiteness” that’s had me thinking about names this week, and here you’ve given us this poignant poem forcing us to come face to face w/ our naming and the narratives labels construct. The allusion to R&J works perfectly. My favorite lines:
I really felt this line: “The naming of things doesn’t change what is.” This rings so true to me. We must use our senses more than labels.
Ditto! It would be funny if naming was just a game! But, as your poem clarifies, misnaming on purpose or not, perpetuates misinformation. The powerful stanza,
Labels.
Branding.
Tags of separation.
With the use of periods after each word,
sum up the problem well. Then ,with poetic genius, you use allusion to Shakespeare to expand our thinking By just substituting one sensory image! Powerful!
There’s a shared national myth, a collective lie we tell about this time of year. Perhaps it began with that first Thanksgiving poetic license. Whatever. It does great harm year after year, maybe more this year than at any time in my life. I have something personal and expansive in mind w/ this nonet.
Gather
We hang by broken carabiners
Chords cut, open wounds tattooed on
Your Inked skin, runes I’ve written
These pages omitted
Broken heritage
Unclaimed stories
No one knows
Rationed
Lives
—Glenda Funk
If pain can be beautiful, you’ve written it so today, Glenda. I felt every word of this. It runs and forms like a teardrop.
Glenda, your opening image is incredibly visceral. Hanging “by broken carabiners” emanates a deep sense of torture and pain for me. “open wounds tattooed”…. keeps me reeling. The complexity of “Rationed/Lives” echoes heartache and the immeasurable pain of injustice that is unfortunately perpetuated over and over again. Truly powerful and impressive poem!
Glenda — You nailed this and in that tight form as well. Way to go! “Broken heritage” indeed. The visceral sense of broken promises are embedded so strongly here… “chords cut, open wounds tattooed…” And the title…yes, gather… a very loaded word. Thank you for that strong Glenda voice! Susie
Love those opening lines – it is piercing to imagine – “We hang by broken carabiners/Chords cut, open wounds tattooed on”. There is a damaging silence to many of these gatherings, “These pages omitted,” “Unclaimed stories” – we sit together, but not really together. I agree that it does great harm year after year, as we “play” at the “story” we have created about the first Thanksgiving.
“Wounds tattooed on” is such a great line, that shows the permanence these wounds created really have. Love this poem. Thanks for sharing.
Glenda, the broken heritage and unclaimed stories have a deep resonance of sadness, and the wounds tattooed have pain. The broken carabiners at the beginning set the feeling of sadness and regret you carry through to the end.
What a powerful poem filled with raw truth and pain. “Unclaimed stories” is sitting with me for so many reasons. Thank you, Glenda.
?Stacey
Sarah, thank you so much for your time during this 5 day invitation to write. I dug into the links and found so many interesting things I would have loved to share with students. However, I did not focus my writing on these myths, but a problem in my community, where we have no place to take people for mental health issues as the state closed these facilities down long ago. Plus, we continue to ignore the problems with drug addiction and suicide which is driving me crazy.
The Silent Wake
My friend messages me
“Start your day with a smile”
Pink petals wave happily
In a golden field of sunshine
But my heart cannot smile
In the wake of their deaths
Peyton, Ron, Jared, Alex, Jake
A short list of too many young men gone
In this southeast corner of Iowa
Life offers little for the depressed
Lost, Confused, Defeated
Drug-addictions rise
Hope crushed under steel-toed boots
Lies broken, bleeding
Beneath cold, disdainful stares
As the body count rises
Silence reigns
Barb Edler
November 18, 2020
Barb, I feel the need to embrace you in a warm hug. “But my heart cannot smile” – such a powerful image in the midst of the pink petals and sunshine fields. You’ve captured this sorrow so well.
In a golden field of sunshine
But my heart cannot smile
So powerful!! Your words hit my heart with their sorrow – so well written.
Barb, there is so much heartbreak and loss and your poem makes me feel it. You named their names. Real people, maybe once a beloved child, now left to the streets. The problem of drug addiction and mental illness goes unchecked and keeps growing. My poor son was once on the streets. He was an addict and mentally ill. There was nothing we could do to help him. He was in an out of the ER , three days in and then they boot you out. Over and over. His name was Philip and he was my bright and witty baby boy. My heart breaks that there is no solution in sight.
These lines summed it up for me.
Nancy, thank you for sharing your experience. The struggle is so incredibly frustrating! Hugs!
Barb — Your poem is dead-on where my head is. The “happy daze” of well-intentioned friends around us offering the pink petals flies in the face of the horrendous mess that has befallen the nation, our very own communities. The “silence reigns” while we wallow in the body count… the disparate images are so strong here. I feel this. I feel it to my bones. Thank you for capturing this. Susie
Barb,
first of all I wanted to thank you for all of your kind comments this week on my poetry. I am new here, and you made me feel so welcome.
Secondly, what an emotional poem. You’ve brought tears to my eyes. Your words are powerful- naming the names makes everything so real and clear. Lovely poem that captures true sorrow. Thank you for sharing.
Barb,
Your title is wonderful in its ambiguity. I remember the difficulty Iowa farmers faced in the ‘80s, but what you describe is something altogether more tragic. The lines
are a real gut punch.
Barb, my heart breaks in memory of vibrant young lives that grew dim and faded. We do need more resources to help those who struggle with addiction. As the mother of a Celebrate Recovery drug addict who has now been sober for two years, I am deeply saddened when I think of those whose family members endure such profound loss. The problems are real and debilitating for everyone touched by them .
Nonet Duo
Thanksgiving
If we teach truth we couldn’t celebrate
The story of the first Thanksgiving
We would tell the story of
My six-year-old nephew
Who was accused of
Stealing because
He is one
Of THOSE
People
You
Know the
Kind, those damn
Indian kids
Who are so sneaky
He stole the false eyelashes
So don’t be a hypocrite
About the land that you sit on
It was theirs first and was never ours
Judi, wow, from the very beginning your poem shares how most people may not really want to face the truth of history. The entire poem delivers such a powerful punch, but I especially enjoyed the anecdote. The hypocrisy is striking and the emphasis on “OF THOSE” really carries its weight. Raw and brilliant! Thank you!
Judy, this cry is so deeply personal that I feel the emotion of it. “THOSE people” argh! Enough! Thanks for sharing such a powerful poem.
Judi, as I was writing today, I strongly felt the hypocrisy of our celebration on Thanksgiving. You’ve shared the reason why. The form of this works so well – broadly, gathering in, before narrowing down to the point sharply (people, you) – almost like the accusation, before ending broadly again (theirs, ours).
YES! Judi — Hammer down! This is perfectly laid out, delivering the strong voice you have. The little nephew…oh man! I just don’t understand that any child would have to bear the cruelty and prejudice that still stains this country. You truly do justice to Sarah’s prompt for today. Thank you for such an honest, gut-wrenching poem. Susie
Judi, this poem carries a beautifully powerful punch. Our country turns an eye to the truth and is something that needs to be spoken about. Your poem shares a grace about bringing this topic to light. Thank you for sharing?
Sarah, your poem speaks volumes today about churning up the past and looking at deep wounds. “If we dare turn the dirt….” It inspired me to think back to the day I unknowingly left my daughter at a bookstore thinking she was on the back seat of the van asleep. She jokingly tells folks her mama abandoned her as a child, but as I endured the reality of what COULD have been, there was no laughter. Thank you for a prompt to dig back in time! I chose a Pantoum to share my panic.
Abandoned
it was all a scary mistake
abandoning her at Barnes & Noble
she asked to go to the van as I checked out
she said she was sleepy
abandoning her was my fault
I told her to stay on the sidewalk
(we’d parked on the curb) but she was sleepy
she was supposed to stay on the sidewalk to the
van parked straight out front
I said, “stay on the sidewalk” because the van was
ten safe feet from the door
but she followed my only directions
she was supposed to go to the van
but as I drove away she stayed on the sidewalk
she did what I asked – but never made it to the van
she wanted to go nap in the van on the third seat
but as I drove away she stayed on the sidewalk
it was all a scary mistake
I had a meltdown when I realized I’d left her
I’d stopped for milk and bread at Food Lion
I called to wake her but her siblings said,
“she’s not here”
she wasn’t there – I’d left her on the sidewalk
I’d stopped for groceries 20 minutes away
I called the bookstore: “yes ma’am, she’s here”
I’d left her on the sidewalk
her pre-K teacher worked evenings at the bookstore
“yes ma’am, she’s safe in the children’s section”
TOTAL MOM FAILURE! would DFACS take her?
Miss Maury was reading her a story
my meltdown shifted from panic to gratefulness
I’d failed her – but she’d known exactly what to do
I’d called out to wake my four year old who wasn’t
there
panic turned to peace when I got back to her
I’d unknowingly abandoned her and we’re still
healing 23 years later
Kim, Well done! What a great choice of the Pantoum to convey the circling (and mounting) panic of the situation in your poem. You captured this fear and panic and “this-can’t-be-happening-why-is-this-happening-this-isn’t-supposed-to-be-happening” feelings perfectly. (On a tangential note, I hope, all these years later, that you can “shift” some of the “blame” to your other children. Now, I’m not a parent — so, I, ultimately, have no idea what I’m talking about in this situation — but your fifth stanza, in retrospect after finishing the entire piece, had me smiling. Yeesh, kids. They were like, I’m not my sister’s keeper. Twenty minutes after the fact! Where’s your sister? Oh, she’s not here. Lol.) Thanks for sharing this!
Kim,
This is so good. I felt the tension and recalled my own scary experiences w/ my children. “Stay on the sidewalk,” such a simple directive made more imperative w/ the Pantoum form here. That final line “healing 23 years later” speaks to the blame moms out on themselves. Do we ever get past it?
Kim, the Pantoum works so well here to share this moment. The opening line really sets the tone and I can feel the panic and the scare you experienced through the use of repetition. I can think of some mom failure moments, too. I was especially moved by your close. Some things are simply not forgotten and it takes a lot to forgive one’s self. I’m so glad though that others were there to do the right thing.
Wow! You captured the panic in the swirl of repeated lines. I was right there with you. I can feel your gratitude for the teacher who took care of her. She never felt the danger and I’m sure remembers it with a smile on her face. Every parent has their moment of FAIL. I enjoyed reading your poem.
Kim — Oh my gosh, this is such an honest and terrifying thing… you built the horror of the moment so effectively… I just knew this was going to go sideways…”stay on the sidewalk”… I have constant nightmares that are similar to your reality. I am so relieved this turned out to be a narrative of your good teaching (she’d known exactly what to do) but also the panic. “Still healing”… I totally get this…. the vivid mind of a mom who knows what might have been. Oh man. I’m almost shaky after reading this a couple times over. Whoof! Thank you for sharing this brutal moment! Susie
Wow. How perfectly the form of the pantoum matches with this content.
But, those words “we’re still healing 23 years later.” Goosebumps and tears.
Scars
show healing,
too, knife lines
tracing wounded
worlds, places
of exposure
in which fingers
brush up against
the past, the skin
always sharing stories,
with jagged
imperfections
etched deep
inside the heart
Kevin,
So few words capturing the duality of scars written in a short amount of time filled with beautiful language . . . you are good!
“lines tracing wounded worlds”
Yep
Kevin, I love so many things about this poem. The vivid image of scars and how they show healing is exquisite. I especially enjoyed the lines: “brush up against/the past, the skin/always sharing stories”. Your whole poem is ripe with sensory appeal, and an event carving our souls is superb. Loved the words, “etched,” “jagged,” and “imperfections”. The scars we have do share a story deeper than the imperfections they show. Another outstanding poem! I so enjoy reading your work.
Kevin, I love your poem. It made me trace my own scars and see them in a different light. Thank you.