Our #OpenWrite Host
Barb Edler has taught English for the last forty years in Iowa, the last thirty in Keokuk where she encouraged students to find their own voice while taking risks, coaching speech participants, and supporting NHD competitors. During the last few years of teaching, Barb worked with talented and gifted students and honed her technology and engineering skills. Keokuk iis located in the very southeast tip of the state where she enjoys watching the Mississippi roll by, reading, writing, playing cards, watching birds, and basically appreciating the simple things in life.
Inspiration
One of my favorite poets is William Stafford who I had the great fortune of meeting years ago at an Iowa Council of Teachers of English conference. One of my favorite poems of his is “Traveling Through the Dark”. This poem shares a dilemma and reveals a difficult decision the speaker must make. We often must make difficult decisions in the classroom as well as in our personal lives. Literature is full of difficult situations as well. William Stafford’s Poem https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poems/42775/traveling-through-the-dark
Process
For this poem, consider a difficult decision you have had to make as an educator, in your life, or one you have encountered in your reading. My poem is about Braden from Conviction, a young adult novel written by Kelly Loy Gilbert, a wonderful read! Braden’s father, a well-known Christian radio host, has been arrested for the killing of a police officer. Braden’s difficulty is trying to decide whether to tell the truth about what happened during the night the police officer was killed.
To begin your poem, consider listing images, sounds, feelings that occurred at the time of the difficult decision. If choosing a piece of literature, revisit the text. Pull words or phrases that are particularly effective to show the conflict. The poem I wrote is a single scene that helps reveal the father’s personality and a bit about the book without spoiling the plot. I chose the following phrases from the text; “spills to the surface” and “I forgive you”.
Barb’s Poem
Conviction
I wanted to meet my birth mother
Who abandoned me
Years ago
You’re the only parent I know
I failed to
Answer your texts
I thought my mother
Would want to meet me
My excuse is not acceptable
Your anger ignites
Spills to the surface
Baseball bat shattering
The windshield
My car
My life
My faith
Splinters
You say
“I forgive you”
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.
An Oral History: COVID-19 Teacher-Poets Writing to Bridge the Distance
Did you write poetry during the first days of COVID-19 school closings? Would you like to be interview for our oral history project? Click here to learn more.
It’s doubt
that I remember
the most, the way
he huddled in the corner
with such silent clenched fury
at his own family, but took it out
on me, his classroom teacher, and how
every single second seemed to last forever
in the shadow of his anguish and my own worry
about what it is I needed to do and how to get it done.
I love your poem Barb! Very Moving!
Thin
By: Emily Yamasaki
This year I am
Stretched thin
Not the skinny girl thin
Nor the skim, might as well be water, milk thin
Not even the angel hair pasta kinda thin
The kind of
Stretched thin
Makes you wonder if nanny-ing would be easier
If fall 2020 is the one
Where you throw in the teacher towel thin
The kind of
Stretched thin
Makes you wanna
be
somewhere
someone
else
Oh, Emily, such wonderful examples of thinness expressed in your poem. And yet you are here at 10 pm, writing a poem. God bless you, my friend! May you have peace amidst the stretching and stress.
Emily, the stretched thin concept is causing so many new teachers and veteran teachers to rethink decisions of so many kinds – content, delivery, location, career, retirement…..
Your topic is so relevant to the way so many are feeling – ‘the one where you throw in the teacher towel thin’ resonates with me – already we are seeing this in our system, and it’s so sad to see first year teachers who prepared for a different idea of career being disappointed and overwhelmed with the current state of education. Great topic!
Emily,
This is heart-wrenching and honest. The litotes in the first stanza explains much by saying what stretched thin is not. I know my colleagues of many years feel the same. They are being treated horribly by many in the community. It’s all so sad and too much to bear.
Good morning Emily,
I came back this morning to see what I missed. This poem, your description of being stretched thin, is spot on for me right now. Stretched thin and getting fatter by the minute. I love the raw truth of your poem. Speaking it and putting the pain of the stretching on the page give it less power. Keep writing and speaking it out! I am definitely “throw in the teacher towel thin” and considered early retirement, but decided my ancestors would want me to push through. It’s hard but it’s not impossible. Keep believing you can do it, get the nanny or the help you need, and if you decide it’s too much, take time off. I believe in you, no matter what you decide.
Much love always!?
Emily, your poem speaks to me and I’m sure so MANY of us. I know 90% of teachers want to throw in the towel. Thank you for voicing what’s actually in our hearts. In three more years, maybe I will. ??????
Emily,
You really expressed how I feel almost every weekend. It is so hard teaching this way.
Powerful line, “Where you throw in the teacher towel thin” – and don’t throw in the towel!
I felt your words on a visceral level. Even though we are in-person, we are doing a block-style schedule where we have 8 weeks to teach the entire year’s content. Your poem made me think of the Doctor Who character Lady Cassandra O’Brien who is nothing but a piece of skin stretched so thin across a frame she could easily tear.
I love how you turned the concept of thin back and forth, held it up to the light, STRETCHED it. I’m going to add “thin” to my words that describe this hard time.
Do I work from home,
or do I teach in the building,
rampant and rife with germs?
In a good year I’d get sick three or four times,
but in 2020
those germs are deadly.
Move the desks six feet apart in your tiny classroom
they say
Maintain social distancing in the bustling hallway
they say
Keep your mask on at all times
they say
But will it work?
I wonder.
I assess the risk
As my heart feels tugs from so many directions
And I decide…
But before I can announce my decision,
it is made for me
by our governor and our school board
and I am teaching from a computer
hoping and praying that
I will be with my kids again soon.
Mo, you have expressed the details so well here. Your poem conjures up those hard decisions we are confronted with daily regarding this virus. I have thought many times over the spring, summer and now into the fall that I am happy that I am not one of the decision-makers. The decisions all see so impossible. Stay safe!
Mo, I enjoy how you show the decision that you made was different from the one that was mandated. Our decisions that we pour our souls into and lose sleep over can be so quickly overturned by higher powers – and your desire to be with your students is evident well before those final lines!
Mo- Your poem rings with the badgering questions that you’ve been facing, and it tears at the soul of a caring teacher. These are impossible times to say the least. I’ve thought about how hard this is for each of you…the tone of your poem, the repeated “they say” just slaps us with how hushed teachers’ voices have been in all this, as if their very lives were not on the line. Oh man. The sense of rollercoaster is here, all of it carrying such weight.
These two lines say so much about the ambivalence when control is in the hands of others …
My heart goes out to you. Susie
The Clash blares through my 2004 Pathfinder speakers
Windows cracked, hair disheveled
85 on I-35
Single tears fall, swept away by highway air
One city is home
The other is independence
As long as I keep busy
The hole where my heart usually goes
Will stay preoccupied by my brain
Should I Stay or Should I Go?
Lauryl Bennington, your “85 on i-35” spoke to my Iowa core.
I heard this line in my bones: “The hole where my heart usually goes”
The ultimate Clash- should I Stay or Should I Go? What a tough decision. That single tear, tho!
Lauryl, you have captured the moment so well. The “Single tears fall, swept away by highway air” shows something about your dificult decision.
I love the imagery of ‘the hole where my heart usually goes.’ The emptiness when home isn’t…home.
I don’t know when I lost
god, capital G.
I see a seven-year-old, holding a Bible
on Easter morning
posing as pious
but not really feelin’ it.
My teen self
squeezed her thoughts through
the eye of a needle
hoping belief could win over
reason.
Belief lost.
I now trust my eyes
recording the dog’s wide
jaws closing on the rotting dead bird
in one swift gulp.
I trust my ears
ringing with birdsong
and static
and small new sounds
from the baby.
I trust my body
to know gravel and lotion
and lips and itches.
I trust my mouth
to curl around the contrast
of salt and lime.
I trust my senses to tell
me my world.
God or my senses?
The decision made itself.
Thank you for this poem. I went through this journey too and you have articulated so beautifully here
Allison,
This poem really resonated with my own journey as well. A lot of the lines here remind me of Walt Whitman and his view on religion/spirituality as well. Thank you so much for sharing this beautiful poem!
Alison,
Wow, those images remind me yet again why you are one of my favorite poets. I am just going to go back now and study these senses stanzas. It’s amazing how you make our minds go here and there through all our senses with such an economy of words. “gravel and lotion
and lips and itches” — Really, my skin feels each one of these sensations as I read and rewrite these lines. Same with my mouth puckering on the salt and lemon and more. You are a master. I too have gone through a journey like this, but I am thankful that belief found me along the way. It makes my journey sweeter than it was before. Thank you for your beautiful poem, Alison.
Denise, thank you for hearing me, and for using my experience to enrich–rather than negate–your own.
Allison – I’m so glad, once again, to cycle back to find your poem. In particular this poem. Each time I settle on one of your poems I am struck by the connection it brings, tethering to my own senses and heart. We’ve walked very similar journeys and your poem is testimony. I so appreciate the power that comes with “trust[ing] my senses.” Your specific images are so exact — I love that…
and
Your poem really matters… it’s not easy to map the complexity of this journey, yet you made it exquisite in so few lines… that is mastery, my friend! Thank you. Susie
Allison, I relate completely to this poem. I believe in my senses more than any “god”. Your poem reminds me of one of my favorite quotes: “I’d rather have a mind opened by wonder than one closed by belief.”
Wow. I love that line.
Allison, again, I find so much to love in your writing. What I’m deeply captivated by this morning is your story, your truth, your journey to acceptance!! Beautiful. As one who believes in capital G-o-d I also believe in love. There’s so much to love about YOU!!
You are a glorious human being with a soul of gold!
Allison, Bravo!! I love the images and the contrasts. My favorite is “I trust my mouth to curl around the contrast of salt and lime” I too know that taste. Thank you for revealing your heart.
Barb, I want you to know I just ordered “Conviction” based on your poem! I’m late to the page tonight, but I LOVE William Stafford. “Traveling Through the Dark” is one of the poems I read to my parents when they lived in my basement from March to August. A decision is an excellent prompt. Thank you.
I’ll go write now…and be back.
Allison, I just came back to look at Saturday’s poems. I know you will enjoy Conviction especially because it has so many issues that are interwoven throughout the narrative. Once you’ve read it, I’d love to hear your thoughts!
Thank you for this prompt, Barb. It was a chance to not dwell on the incredibly sad news we received yesterday. This poem started as an interesting exercise in examining a character’s decisions in a famous work (imagined as an interview like they would do on the TV show The Office) and ended with a character portrait of someone I wouldn’t want to spend any time with. Lol.
“Decisions, Decisions”
No, I mean, I’m not a prude
or anything, you understand,
but she, like, had her shirt
off. She wasn’t wearing—
she was topless. She wouldn’t
be able to shop at the market, you
know, no shirt no shoes no
service. Oh, she didn’t have
shoes either, because her feet
were, like, paws, like lion’s paws.
I don’t know, the whole thing was weird.
She had wings, too, did I mention
that? Just breasts and wings,
that’s all I could focus on.
Now, granted, I wasn’t wearing
any pants at the time.
If you’ve seen the depictions —
and there are quite a few good
ones out there — you’ll see.
Yeah, I like to keep fit, toned.
I’ve started crossfit.
Anyways, she was asking this
riddle, and I was, like, wait,
you mean, no one else can
figure this out? No one?
Now, I had just arrived in town,
and believe you me, this place
was the pits. A total dump. This
Woman-Creature-Thing, the one
who was indecently flashing me,
had put a plague on the town,
like a legit blight, we’re talking
the death of crops and cattle
and kids. The curb appeal
was zilch, if you know what
I mean.
But, I was wandering,
currently “unencumbered by
attachments,” as they say,
“apartmentally challenged.”
Yes, I was homeless.
I had to leave my native
country, my “slice of heaven.”
I embarked on a rather
extreme course of action
after receiving some bad
news — no, I’d rather not
go into it — Look, if there’s
one thing that I’ve learned
about bad news, you
can’t ignore it,
but you sure as hell
can out run it, amirite?
Anyways, I was out and
about, a bachelor on
the prowl, as it were,
when I came here.
Well, first I ran into some
Bros on the highway —
actually it was some lame,
dinky dirt road — a place
where two roads met —
and there was a little bit
of a dust up. A bit of
an altercation, you could
say.
But they were totally okay
when I left. Don’t let
anyone tell you differently.
And now, here we are.
Should I help answer
this riddle (it’s Man, by
the way) and save this
podunk town?
Maybe they’ll erect a statue
of me or something.
I don’t know, we’ll see.
The queen’s a widow,
I think. Maybe I’ll give
her a call after I
solve this thing. See if
she feels beholden,
you know, indebted,
if you catch my drift.
Yeah, she’s a little older,
but she’s hot, you know
what I mean?
Oh, my word! This was utterly delicious! At “She had wings, too, did I mention
that? Just breasts and wings,
that’s all I could focus on”
I was face-contorting grinning! Thank you for revisiting this classic tale in such a condensed, playful way! #winner
Do you know how many decisions I make in one day?
Me either.
I only know that it is enough to make me tired.
My brain is cloudy by evening
as if each choice
expelled a puff of exhaust
and all that thought pollution
stops traffic.
It is no wonder I cannot determine what to make for dinner.
Stacy, I absolutely adore this! Perfect description of my brain most days. I love that you kept it short and to the point. “All that thought pollution stops traffic” is my favorite image!
Stacy, I really liked the resignation in that second line! You set up the expectation that you were going to answer the question, but you’re like, meh, “Me either.” And the “thought pollution” metaphor is great. Thanks.
Wow. This poem is a punch that connects to my solar plexus. I can’t identify a favorite line because you have used cloudy, expelled, puff, exhaust (EXHAUSTION!) and pollution to thump me in my heart.
I can’t make the dinner decision either.
Thank you for “hearing ME” through your poem.
Thought pollution. I felt each line of your poem within my own tired soul this weekend. Thank you for sharing this!
Wow, what a powerful, simple poem that reflects all teachers’ lives, I feel. “Thought pollution” stopping traffic is brilliant. At least you have also decided to write this 🙂
Moving Mother
An accumulation of moments – phone calls, encounters
My cousin Marsha called when my mother’s fire alarm went off.
A pot left on the stove til its contents were burnt.
Harriet came over to help her when she couldn’t place her book order with Amazon.
At Thanksgiving I met my mother escorted by a stranger. Your mother
wondered if you’d be here to meet her. “Jamie, were you expecting me?”
“Of course, you come every year.” Seems her memory was being left behind.
After a few, what are you going to dos, I began looking at places
for Mom. In Spring we visited a retirement community.
She liked the community; she enjoyed the attention. I made some choices.
My brothers met with her accountant making sure it was right.
The summer of the move. Lists and plans. A visit scheduled; my
brothers and I converged to pack and sift through a lifetime of possessions.
Decision made; execution time. Shoes sorted and shared. Furniture met
consignment. Hours and objects hinge on one thing happening before the next.
An imperfect moving day – longer than expected, my mother left with my
brother, the dog could not fly on a day when temperatures reached 80
before . . . Arrival in Austin, Mom, then me, then Stanley.
Somehow I don’t remember how long before the furniture arrived.
She moved.
“Hours and objects hinge on one thing happening before the next”
This line was especially moving for me. Thank you.
Howl
There’s an influx of vitriol waiting in my inbox
Faux Fox News propaganda ingested by my family &
vomited from one server to the next and then to mine
My modus operandi:
ignore & delete, ignore & delete, ignore & delete
Except this day, I just can’t!
In my heart I know
remaining silent to maintain
familial peace allows falsehoods to propagate and
acrimony to unfurl choking out truth
And this day, I just can’t!
I will not fertilize the bitter fruit of hatred,
by remaining silent
I must howl!
I must howl because
I have breath
not smothered
under the weight of a knee
I must howl
because I am whole & alive
No bullet holes riddle my back
I must howl because my whiteness
gives me voice
to advocate for
those whose voices
have been extinguished
I must Howl against injustice
STANDING OVER HERE CLAPPING AND SHOUTING, “HOWL AGAINST INJUSTICE!” Thank you, Tammi! Howling is the perfect action word for this revolutionary act that you are committed to doing. Bravo and know that you have a ton of supporters, co-conspirators, and Black women howling with you!
Tammi,
I really loved the palpable energy in this poem. You do such a great job of articulating your thoughts and actions. This reminds me of Allen Ginsberg’s “Howl” a lot. That is one of my favorites, so thank you for sharing this!!
Oh, Tammi,
You found some powerful words to unfurl for us today.
“influx of vitriol”
“propaganda ingested…and vomited…”
“I just can’t…”
“I must howl”
Keep howling, sister. You are on the right side of justice, no matter what some are saying.
Hello, I am a little late to this writing assignment today, but I made it. This poem was written very quickly, so please bear with me as it is not my best attempt.
I felt it all: the pain, the fear, the joy,
the overwhelming knowledge of being
known truly. It was too much all at once.
To have my wickedness all on display,
I could not bear the slightest thought of it.
But as I dwelt on the issue, I
began to feel a strange desire for this
dear intimacy. Shame and judgement cast
aside, it was too good to be so true.
I pondered for a few; it felt just right.
All felt so calm. I had to lose myself
but found much more. I took a breath and grasped
the gentle hand that guided my first step
into eternity and endless joy.
Grace,
This reminded me of a time when I made a decision to grasp that “gentle hand” and accept grace. I like your poem and I’m glad you wrote today. No need to apologize for quick drafts here. It’s a busy time, isn’t it!? It’s good to see you in this space.
These lines were so beautiful. Your poem left me with a sense of hopefulness and joy.
Thank you!
I do not know how to write poetry,
but here goes nothing –
be gentle with me.
Do you know the pain
of having to erase your mother from your life?
It is as though my very core
has evolved into a concrete mixer,
like the ones that you brake for
in fear that your car will be devoured in the mixture.
Each little particle is a seed of memories and dreams
past, present, future.
Everything has shifted,
forced into a chaotic earthquake that leaves only dust behind.
The vessel that delivered me into this world
still walks the ground, creating endless earthquakes.
But my ground is now sacred,
not to be desecrated.
I am the protector of this holy space
that I have created.
Only I am allowed to open or close the gate to my fortress
that reaches beyond the clouds
and is carefully decorated in spikes.
But it doesn’t matter if that heart is beating beyond the gate.
Her spirit lingers here within the shadows
always in the perimeter of my eyes.
How do you cast out the person
who used to be everything to you?
For someone who doesn’t know how to write poetry, you wrote a beautiful poem, Gracie! 🙂 It’s full of honesty and emotion. I, too, had to “erase” my mother from my life. I wasn’t receiving anything positive from that relationship, and I had to protect myself. I love how you described that:
“But my ground is now sacred,
not to be desecrated.
I am the protector of this holy space
that I have created.
Only I am allowed to open or close the gate to my fortress
that reaches beyond the clouds
and is carefully decorated in spikes.”
I’m currently reading about Complex PTSD which results from issues in childhood. It’s very eye-opening.
Gracie—Methinks you lie! This is a powerful poem! The concrete mixer, the fortress, the endless earthquakes… I am glad you were able to create your sacred space—continue to strengthen its borders.
Wow! Gracie. “The vessel that delivered [you] into this world” may have forced you to create the sacred space, but I’m so glad she gifted our lives with you! I can also relate to the mom’s “earthquake” moments because my mom and I had an unhealthy relationship too. I appreciate you sharing your “tough” decision with us. Thank you.
Grace — This poem is heart wrenching and beautiful. Everything a poem should be. You definitely know how to write poetry. These lines were especially moving.
“Do you know the pain
of having to erase your mother from your life?
It is as though my very core
has evolved into a concrete mixer,
like the ones that you brake for
in fear that your car will be devoured in the mixture.”
While I have never had to shut my mother out of my life, I could feel your pain.
Gracie, there is such a deep emotional draw to this poem, and I think part of it is due to (of course the subject matter) the set up of the lines. I like the switching between long and short lines. It creates a feeling of push and pull, and maybe even an element of confusion, like the speaker is lost in the decision. I am glad you chose this topic, even if it may be painful to show to others.
Ah Gracie, you do know how to write poetry.
The matter-of-fact way you help your reader know the pain of having to erase your mother from your life is stunning. Peace to you. Thanks for writing this.
My, this is one hell of a poem. The description and figurative language that continues and continues is powerful and I can feel how you feel through your writing (almost). This is the line that moved me most: “Each little particle is a seed of memories and dreams
past, present, future.” and I love the questions that you have asked in the poem as well.
The decision has been made
All that is left is
finding the right time.
Not now
Not with her illness
Not with this pandemic.
So I stay and
I wait
and it kills me
a bit every day
Things get a bit better
Maybe we could be happy
maybe we could
get back what we lost
But you NEVER fail
The labeling
The gaslighting
The arrogance
The blame
the justification
Daily reminders of
why I must go and why
the decision has been made
Wow, Monica. The pain and sadness really come through in this poem. It’s so heard when we make a decision but other factors prevent us from following through. I hope you find peace.
Never a right time for something. Thank you for sharing this gut-wrenching poem. The short, two-word lines highlight the discomfort and the obstacles. I’ve been saying to myself all week that decisions have to be made – so be it!
G.G. (Great Grandma)
G.G. wasn’t feeling quite right
After all, she was old and slow.
On Sunday our family paid a visit.
Mom had made tasty spaghetti to share.
After all, G.G.was old and slow
The wooden chairs scraped
when we set them up.
All the family gathered around
but G.G. didn’t move from her bed.
After all, she was old and slow.
Coffee was all she wanted
And as it brewed I could hear
laughter and the aroma of spaghetti.
G.G. waited.
After all, she was old and slow.
I delivered the coffee to bedside
to find her very still.
There was no breath, no sound, no pulse.
G.G. was gone.
After all, she was old and slow.
I could hear clinks of forks on plates
and jokes being told in the room nearby
with loads of family laughter.
I sat on G.G.’s chair for a moment
Then went to the family to finish my meal.
On Sunday our family paid a visit.
Mom had made tasty spaghetti to share.
After all, G.G.was old and slow.
Susan. I am gobsmacked. The repetition and the progression of your poem. And the decision you made.
After all, G.G. Was old and slow. My heart was there with you.
I decided to write about a decision not yet made. I still need to teach for a few more years, but as retirement gets closer, I keep thinking about where I want to live in the future. If you know of a place that fits this description, please let me know!
Wish List
Nature is never too far away – just open the front door
A vibrant art and culture scene – creativity galore
A sky that can hold all the phases of the moon – an unobstructed view
Restaurants and cute cafes – have my cake and eat it too
Autumn is long and summer is short – cozy sweaters and boots
A sense of history and community – a place to set down roots
Walking is encouraged; traffic doesn’t exist – can such a place be real?
Small town charm but with Amazon Prime –this would be ideal
Sharon, if you do find this place, please let me know. I just retired and then I broke my leg and ankle 7 weeks ago and I’m still in a hard cast. I dream of this exact escape! You definitely put a smile on my face! Thanks for sharing such a cleverly written and delightful poem!
Sharon,
Wow! The place you described sounds absolutely heavenly. A picture-perfect place that I am searching for too. I especially love your last line which adds some humor, but also real charm. I love this! Thank you for sharing.
To Teach or Not to Teach? That is the Question
“You’re a legacy
you grew up in schools”
Helping mom and dad,
running around on playgrounds,
creating posters hearing “your beautiful neat writing”
I knew as a teenager it was just a backhanded compliment
a way for them to make me help and earn movie money.
Determined NOT to do it. Yet…………
my post college pay check was two dollars more than
minimum wage in the late eighties.
They kept pushing, I kept refusing.
I didn’t really like children, teaching
seemed too easy, schools seemed dirty,
teachers wore ugly shoes, the job didn’t
seem glamorous……….
Finally, my dad, a brilliant educator and a new Ph.D
approached me from a different angle.
“What’s your dream car and dream vacation?
How are you going to feel working at the mall
the day after Christmas, you know you’ll only
get one week off a year, do you like getting
off work at 8:00pm?”
“Can you afford that German car you want on
your minimum wage plus two dollars salary,
Can you go to Hawaii and Disney World?”
I thought about it and discussed it with my
new husband. We spent a week discussing
it and two weeks later, I signed up to
become a substitute. I’ve been at
this for 30 years now and YES it was one
of the most momentous positive decisions of
my life. I now wear cute comfortable teacher shoes,
have the German car, have been to Hawaii and Disney a few
times, adore children and am proud to be an educator.
Hello Seana! Your piece is gorgeous. Your words, “They kept pushing, I kept refusing.” really resonated with me. My journey has been opposite of yours: I wanted to be a teacher, they did not want me to be a teacher. This isn’t uncommon here in Oklahoma, but that doesn’t make it any less heartbreaking to hear your dream isn’t valuable enough. I love your perspective on the little positives like getting to wear comfy shoes – it is so easy to overlook the small things that can make all the difference in a day. Thank you for sharing. 🙂
Serena, I’m so glad your decision had a happy ending. I had to laugh at the reasons you resisted school because a lot of it is true, and I love how you close with wearing “cute comfortable teacher shoes”! A definite plus for teachers! Thanks for the smile you brought to this reader’s face!
My favorite line—teachers wore ugly shoes. Kinda sums it all up! Love the poem; love the decision you made!
My friend, Seana, thank God for the decision you made! I love that it was not your dream job but it has afforded you many beautiful dreams that came true. You’re a blessing to your students, the gazillions of lives you’ve touched, and you are a phenomenal woman!
I love the comfortable teacher shoes too! Who cares. And just imagine how our feet will hurt when we return to school in person again.
Love you and your poem!
Decisions, 2020
I was trying to write a poem today, but
I couldn’t decide what to write.
The delete button kept intervening.
RBG is dead.
So many decisions we make each day…
What shall I have for breakfast?
Are three cups of coffee too many?
Should I call my mother/daughter/son?
Who will clean up the pet mess today?
These decisions, I can master—especially the pet mess.
(I know that waiting for my husband to notice is useless.)
We have new decisions these days…
I can handle most of these.
Which mask matches my sweatshirt?
Are my yoga pants clean?
Have I replaced the hand sanitizer in the car?
Is it going to be too crowded at the grocery store?
Should I shop if the parking lot is full?
Can I hug my daughter?
If I catch
Covid, will I live?
So many decisions have been taken out of our hands—
Decisions that others make for us.
Will our leaders honor their promises?
Will they tell the truth, or will they lie?
Can I believe what I am told?
Does my vote really count?
I cannot make these decisions, and I do not trust those who make them.
So, I am not going to decide anything.
I am not going to write a decision poem.
Not at all. It’s 2020.
And decisions are a fiction.
So that’s it.
I have decided.
No poem today.
RBG is dead.
A powerful poem, Gayle. You capture what so many of us are feeling. It is time to mourn.
Gayle,
You have captured the zeitgeist of these times in this not a poem about decisions poem. It makes me question whether or not any decision we make is really our decision to begin with. Yes, “RBG is dead,” and I do not trust those making decisions. ?
—Glenda
Such a mournful repeated line, “RBG is dead.” I, too, had such a hard time deciding what to write – because all I could think about was her death. Ugh. This is spot on. I truly feels, “decisions are a fiction.” Thanks for this!
I love this! It is exactly how I feel. All these decisions to be made each day. Some see so trivial and some are very important. If I analyze themI find it is overwhelming. And then the line “(I know that waiting for my husband to notice is useless.)” is right on!
You know, Gayle, I woke this morning feeling exactly like this. Usually on poem days, I vault upright in bed and reach for the laptop to see what is in store for the day’s prompt and writing. Today, I was with you…feeling the nails hammering into the coffin of 2020 and the sense that everything was upside down with the loss of RGB. I’m still a train wreck, but your poem helped me know I have poet friends in the wreckage, wading through the goo.
Thank you, Susie
I had so much trouble reaching the point of writing today.. glad we are mourning together…
Gayle — i totally know how you feel. Some days it seems like nothing we decide will even matter. Your poem really captures the uncertainty that so many of us are feeling right now. And losing RBG makes all the uncertainty and anxiety even worse.
I agree with everyone else here, Gayle. Thank you for articulating these feelings so well! “It’s 2020. / And decisions are a fiction.” Ugh, I wish that line weren’t so true.
Now what?
What’s next?
Always moving
Obsessed with progress
Agonizing over next steps
Never relaxing
Fearing stagnation.
Slowly,
Stress,
Snowballs.
Stop.
Breathe.
Enjoy the moment.
Enjoy the students.
Enjoy the work.
Kate, I appreciate that this piece moves from the frenzy of the what’s next to the slow breath of release before finally ending at the pause that allows you to enjoy the moment. And allows us to enjoy it with you. I needed that bit of breath today!.
Hello Kate! I love how you chose to structure your piece. The flow and format walked me through the exact process of your thoughts. You captured every emotion I have felt in my journey to becoming an educator. It is comforting to know I am not alone in these feelings. Thank you for sharing. 🙂
Barb
Thank you for the wonderful inspiration. I had never read the poem by Stafford. It left me with my jaw hanging open.
I love that you used a piece of literature to inspire your original poem. I’m going to start having my students consider doing the same.
For those of you who “know” me, you know economy is my struggle. I wish I could have plopped in the middle of the scene, thus shortening the poem, but I can’t.
The Risk Was Worth the Reward
A fresh school year
full of uncertainty.
the classroom busting
with many familiar names,
kids of former students.
That’s about the only thing
familiar.
Patterns are awkward.
Seats separated,
masked students
with eyes–some attentive,
some glassy–poking
out the top.
Mask muffling makes
it even harder to
raise that hand.
Back in the corner sits a girl
She looks nothing like
the picture on my attendance screen
Drastic changes in
hairstyle and clothes,
makeup and jewelry.
She is a bright student
tentative at sharing ideas
but they are brilliant
when she does.
She is often off-task
doodling, picking,
head lowered
lost in thought.
One day, she’s clearly upset.
Our eyes meet.
My eyes say, “You okay?”
Her head slowly moves
left and right
and her eyes fill up with tears.
Am I ready? Do I want to
open the Pandora’s box?
She clearly needs something,
someone.
I’ve been in this spot before,
learning things I didn’t
want to know
but knowing the sharing
needed to happen.
The trauma tumor grows
large enough
and metastasizes
enough to demand treatment.
I nod toward the door.
She follows m out.
We walk to a private spot
so she can unburden.
The imploring eyes
full of doubt and need
uncomfortable in her skin.
Yet not.
She’s more uncomfortable
with the environment
imposing itself
on her.
She’s come out.
She’s become herself.
Just to a few, but
the taunts have started
even from “friends.”
The parental pressure to change
is steady.
There is little that I can say.
Tell her she’s brave.
Tell her that they are the ones
who are narrow-minded.
Tell her that being true to
herself is the most important thing.
I waffle.
I have always been a haven,
a harbor.
But I stay pretty neutral.
I don’t want to overstep.
I listen but I don’t act.
I would never want parents
to come charging at me.
My heart hurts for her.
She knows who she is.
She’s an old soul
in an adolescent body.
She’s not a flighty, experimenting,
attention-seeking kid.
I look at her again.
I say, “I’ll be right back.”
I walk back to my room
and retrieve a book,
Redwood and Ponytail,
from a hidden spot
not shelved among my vast collection.
I have never crossed into controversy.
It’s not my comfort zone.
But now’s the time,
I hand the book to her.
“Read this,” I say.
“You will love it.”
All weekend, I expected
the call, the email,
from enraged parents,
upset that I’m trying
to turn their daughter gay.
It doesn’t come.
On Monday, on my desk,
is a sketch of Tam and Kate
with a note:
“Thank you for helping me
feel comfortable being me.
The characters captured my
exact inner turmoil.
I’m ready to recognize
the part of me others
want me to hide.”
I took a risk handing her that book
and I’m sure glad that I did.
~Susan Ahlbrand
9 September 2020
Susan, wow, this is such a fantastic narrative. You definitely needed to include all of the details you shared and the narrative moves quickly as it is so compelling. I’m so glad a book was the answer to helping a student feel more comfortable about their true self! Thanks for sharing such an important moment. Kudos to you for making a difference!
Susan, there are no words to truly describe the emotions that your piece stirred within me. Your words, “Am I ready? Do I want to
open the Pandora’s box?” stopped me dead in my tracks. Teachers are the masters of creating a safe haven for their students, and you clearly have been a force of peace and comfort for your kiddos. Thank you so much for sharing your thoughts. 🙂
Susan – This is a beautiful story. I am so glad this …
… a beautiful young spirit that needed you and your unfettered understanding could reach out to you. You are a hero. The “risk was worth” it, indeed. Teachers walk a very fine line with the young lives they help… just being a listener who is able to silent her own voices in order to hear that voice of a student matters. This student was lucky for your presence in her life, and there are many more in line for that wisdom and compassion. Your poem captures the uncertainty of so many decisions that teachers have to make. Thank you! Susie
A lovely story, I loved how you described her – “tentative at sharing ideas but they are brilliant when she does” followed by the head shaking left to right and then on to the Pandora’s Box reference. A simple start to a complex story.
Susan, there needs to be a teacher for every student who experiences the taunts and pressures for being who they are! I commend you and I’m so grateful also that she was open to your suggestion to read the book. I can imagine your concern of what could’ve happened. But you modeled for her the exact bravery and courage and confidence that she needed to see. You will be in her heart forever.
There’s so much to love about your poem, but this was especially poignant for me:
Thank you for sharing this poem, your courage, and your student with us.
Barb,
Thank you for the prompt and for your great poem about Braden in Conviction.
I can feel the anger in these lines:
What a great way to synthesize literature, or explore a character. I will definitely keep this prompt in mind. We’re ready The One and Only Ivan now, and I read a chunk of the day to see if Ivan made any difficult decisions so I could try it, but now it’s time for bed, so I tried a different decision I made last spring.
Thanks, Denise! I ordered the book your class is reading now, and now I can’t wait to begin reading it.
To Teach or Not to Teach in 2020-2021
Though we only finished one semester
we already are thinking of the
new academic school year
2020-2021
Expecting good re-enrollment numbers
Pretty sure of our staffing needs
Need to hear from you
whether or not you want to
renew your contract
Kindly complete the form
no later than
23 February
To be sure
I was sad to leave Bahrain
but my husband’s visa would expire
during the
2020-2021
academic year, so
I won’t commit for half a year, I’d say
But it might be renewed. They might need me to stay, he’d said
Back and forth, we’d ponder
After days of musing
When the due date came
Enough was unsettled that
I opened the Google Form in the default purple
No, I clicked, I have other plans for the 2020-2021
school year. I will not be returning.
I didn’t really have other plans
I explained to admin
I’ll be here to help as needed
Two days later
Covid-19 ended our school year as we knew it
Now we’re five-weeks into the
blended / virtual learning
2020-2021
academic year
and I’m helping as needed
until the new teacher can get her visa
to travel here
It was a good decision
Denise, I love the paradox inherent in the decision to leave resulting in your staying. Trust me when I say having purpose during these trying times matters. Thank you.
—Glenda
Ungh. It was tough to read a go-back poem because of that time and place for all of us, but then that means you captured it well – and I was still uncertain how it would turn out, even though I knew. Reading this put me back to some of my own past decisions, the uncertainty and how uncannily it was right once Covid hit. I love how this shows the end and the right decision. Stating it in that final line, I was nodding my head and saying, Yes! Favorite line: “Back and forth, we’d ponder” I FELT that in my heart.
Denise, it sounds as if you got to “have cake and eat it, too” – making a decision to leave, yet being able to help out in the near term. A good decision, indeed!
A Two Year Old’s Decisions
Ready, set, go,
you,
down the driveway,
decisive,
yet
wriggly
wiggly
giggly
wandering.
I follow your lead
as you
create curves in the road
I never saw before.
Down and around the neighborhood block,
your path
not unlike
a bedazzling butterfly in a field of wildflowers,
you
landing
in unexpected and myriad places.
Look,
red car
roly poly bug in the rocks
blue ball
crack in the concrete
sticks!
Wave to the walkers,
jump, jump, jump to the flowers,
pick up the pebble,
now,
sit
on neighbor’s steps,
no, their driveway,
no, the metal circle in the middle of the street,
this last
just perfect for
taking off sandals
surprising me
with your decisions
showing me
I never saw before.
Maureen, I love to read about your granddaughter. This is just so precious, and what a great way to use this decision-making prompt. She has difficult decisions for a whole different reason than the grownups.
This poem would go well in her baby book. What a treasure. Her path like “a bedazzling butterfly in a field of wildflowers.” Amazing!
And I believe children show us every day that we have never seen before. Or at least we’ve forgotten. Beautiful!
Maureen,
This poem is a welcome respite from the serious tone of much of our writing. I love this celebration of life and a child’s decisions. You transport me back to my own childhood and riding the neighborhood sidewalks. It was so much fun. Thank you.
—Glenda
Maureen—thank you for allowing me to take that walk with you. Your words hopped and skipped, drawing me with you down her path. Beautiful discoveries…
This poem brought me down memory lane about walking with my granddaughter. Such a delight of freshness and wonder. I really think these little ones come to us as angels being introduced to a new world and they help us discover along with them. Enjoy ash is I know you are doing. My granddaughter is now 13 and a beautiful young woman who is not quite as silly but still full of wonder.
Death by a Thousand Decisions
Cameras on or cameras off?
Microphones on or microphones off?
Student loan payment or car payment?
Ear loops or ties?
Google Classroom or Edgenuity?
Sleep or sweep floors?
Seasonal allergies or Covid?
Academic Coach or Remote Learning Teacher?
Mail-in ballot or early voting?
Personal Day or Sick Day?
Beer or wine?
Face shield or mask?
Sleep or shave legs?
Cousin’s wedding or Covid?
In-person or remote?
Take-out or delivery?
Answer emails or grade assignments?
Weight Watchers or Noom?
Birmingham or Moultrie?
Sleep or make breakfast?
Sinus infection or Covid?
PLC or lesson planning?
Drive-thru or cook?
Melatonin or Benadryl?
Dessert or Fruit?
Scold colleague or suffer silently?
Sleep or wash underwear?
Migraine or Covid?
Cry or scream?
You have beautifully captured the stress of teaching in this time – this will be a great artifact of the pandemic! So many small and large decisions, every day, every moment. “Scold colleague or suffer silently” really jumped out at me – how much we are all trying our best just to keep it together, mentally.
Betsy, that title says it all! Death by a Thousand Decisions
This is priceless and several mentions of Covid show decisions that we don’t want to have to know the answer to. So many relatable “decisions” during this time. Hang in there!
This perfectly sums up teaching in 2020. As teachers before 2020, we made countless decisions daily. You really captured how 2020 has added and changed our lives and the questions we ask ourselves. I really felt this poem, and it is nice to know that I am not alone when trying to decide between screaming and crying.
Yes! So many decisions. Too many decisions. Pre-COVID, I felt like there were already too many decisions, but now… This explains the fatigue.
YES!!! All those choices! And your list was brilliant!
Thank you, Barb, for providing this prompt. This space we share her ministers to me.
May the words of my mouth
And the meditation of my heart
Be acceptable in your sight,
O, Lord, my rock and my redeemer.
Psalm 19:14
My heart’s cry as I
Pass the yarrow and thistle and henbit,
Pass the ponderous rolls of bluestem
Lacy yet with dew and later frost
Welcoming me to Osage County.
A sliver of the moon grins as I
Wake the building, which is as tired as I am.
The black and white with red on
Walls and doors and floors.
A rainbow poster peeks timidly into
The hall soon to teem with
Teen hormones.
In class I will say he or she.
The conflict in our story we’ll call
PERSON versus self
Or PERSON versus PERSON
Or PERSON versus society.
After school on a Monday
News of a complaint
Makes its way to my room.
More care must be taken
When using she, her, hers,
The pronouns that I am.
I have seen what happens
When the wind turns against you,
Hits you full strength in the face,
Sweeps you away whole
Into the yarrow and thistle and henbit
Or rolls you up like bluestem.
“I have seen what happens/When the wind turns against you”. These two lines resonated with me. Not only did it bring back memories of the part of teaching I loathe, but it also made me think of how we went from being “heroes” in March to “lazy and glorified babysitters” in August. This might be the last straw on the camel’s back for me…considering my options and thinking about leaving my teaching career.
Katrina, your poem’s imagery is striking throughout! The act of teaching conflict in literature is also clear and it reminds me of how often I asked students to consider the kind of conflicts involved in a piece of literature. I am most enthralled with the final stanza as it carries such a powerful punch….that final line “Or rolls you up like bluestem” is so physical and dramatic. Thanks for sharing such a visceral and thought-provoking poem!
Katrina—“I have seen what happens when the wind turns a against you…or rolls you up like bluestem.” This poem brings back memories of the unease that accompanies teaching. Covid drove me out this year, but the changes coming our way make me realize that my timing was good.
The contract
In triplicate
White then pink then yellow
Carbon-blue ink fading into nothingness
Only one year
(But will be two)
In the wild unknown
Alaskan tundra
Eskimos
Trailers
Adventure
Hesitantly waiting
Surprised by the offer
Reading the fine print
Commitment
Responsibility
Financial security
Yukon teacher
Staring out of the trailer
the kitchen window
Slow-moving river heading to the Bering Sea
Sled dogs chained along the bank
Crisp air calms
A new life begins
The imagery of the job offer on carbon paper is so awesome! Didn’t these commitments seem to have more weight, coming in triplicate like this? The simple spacing of these words
bring me right there, too, deliberating – feeling the weight of the decision. Love it! Bet it was an extraordinary time.
Shaun, I am so impressed with the sequence of your poem. The opening definitely sets the stage of something being demanded that may or may not be positive. The final stanza is so riveting due to the specific stark images. I can’t help but wonder what the “Yukon teacher” is thinking as they stare out the trailer….hopefully, the new life will be a positive one! Thanks for sharing!
Concrete details introduce your time in Alaska as a Yukon teacher. Written sparely. An invitation accepted.
Barb, thank you soooo much! Today was just what I needed and your prompt allowed me to release some things that needed to be left behind. Bless you and I pray that you are safe and well!
All The Things Left Behind
©Stacey L. Joy
We saw their mail
Piling on the table by the door
Like if it didn’t
Make it into the living room
It wouldn’t have life
We knew he couldn’t manage
Living in empty rooms
Where memories floated
On dust particles caught
On sun rays
That never touched his skin again
We waited for that day
Like waiting for the elevator light to blink
And doors opening
To pour people
All over us
Because the piles spoke
Behind gluey seals
On certified warnings
That people were coming
To lock the doors forever
They gave him two days
To pack 40 years
Without enough boxes
Or back strength
We called our crews
Our village of warriors
Who moved fast
With fury and frustration
Until every car and truck
Filled to capacity
They made sure we didn’t leave anything
Important behind
Like my mother’s jewelry and coins
Her letters from our father
Her photo albums of us, them
Her artwork, statues, and ashtrays
Crystal punch bowls and the abacus
From our father’s many faraway trips
But what about the cement handprint
And our initials in the backyard tree
And the hopscotch painting out back
And holiday boxes in the garage
And the smell of the Christmas tree
Or the burning embers
In the fireplace
What about the splashing sounds
From summers in the pool
Music playing in earbuds
While sunbathing and daydreaming
And all the poems I wrote
In notebooks
In the backs of binders
That hid from hands and hearts
Other than mine
All left behind.
Stacey — This listings is so vivid, so gripping in its capacity to be our own lists. The pace moves with the same short bursts of energy as the short lines…almost automatic shots fired into the night. Dang, this is just heartbreaking. The lines with the intangibles and the unmoveables are just killa lines…these…
What about the splashing sounds
From summers in the pool
Music playing in earbuds
While sunbathing and daydreaming
But when I got to your poetry notebooks, I just gulped…the sense of the images there and then not…all “left behind” sends a really profound loss. The frenzy in the pace halts right there and punches us in that last image…whoof! Another voice-rich, power poem. Dang, you just keep on delivering. I’m amazed. Thank you for recreating each detail…you’ve retrieved what could so easily have been forever lost…retrieved it and placed all of this here for the ever after. Susie
I laughed a bit at the first stanza, even though it’s serious; the humanizing of the mail was so curiously crafted. But by the end, I was in tears. The ominous other who is out there creates a sense of anxiety. The “what about” questioning is heavy because it is both demanding and pleading. Knowing it is rhetorical – that ominous other will never answer – and as the reader, having to witness this – also with no answers – left me broken.
Stacie, I am truly moved by how well you depict the actions of this poem. The sequence of events has such a rhythm of its own. The elevator imagery is spot-on. I absolutely love how your poem shares the pain of leaving the important things behind, that are so much more than things, because they are the fabric and essence of our soul, the priceless, precious memories, and beloved things we should never have to leave behind. Thanks for sharing such a poignant poem!
Your poem about leaving is so rich with detail of memories and objects. There’s tension in the short time to act on some many years of life. I’m left wondering about the life beyond the moment.
faucets
screw a knob
pull a lever
push a button
waive a hand
touch a curve
it is on or off
off–
holding back water flow
pressure building in the pipes
that stretch below ground
burrowed beneath the town
waiting
on–
knobs draft dribbles
levers release a simple
machine, a screw, the wedge
between drift and resist-ance
outpouring
it is on or off
until it’s not
that in-between
drip
reminding you
of what waits
You made me think about the symbolism of the on, off faucet and how it’s the in between dripping that is most annoying. “Reminding you of what waits.”
I love the tactile imagery, the working parts, and the way the lines in your stanzas seem to correspond with one another. The ending is a surprise with that irritating drip.
Sarah, indecision definitely feels “on or off until it’s not.” And that drip can be so, so aggravating! I could feel that pressure building in the off position and the rush of the outpouring as soon as movement happens. You’ve caught that feeling in a mundane object that feels everything but mundane!
Sarah,
I think about the flow of water often, especially since we installed a new water softener this week, and two weeks of hard water showers has wrecked havoc on my skin. I’ve also been thinking about water flow as I’ve purchased six new faucets to replace old ones. The rate of flow, the environmental impact of flow, the amount of air in the flow, all influence my thinking. The biggest decisions have been about the outward structure and color of faucets, and that has caused some debate: single lever or two knobs in the master bath? Two knobs won. All this is to say I love these opening lines that push my thinking about a utilitarian item I often take for granted:
Thank you!
—Glenda
Thank you, Sarah. iIactually had a giggle with this one. I love the ending and the dribbles in between. This writing is so tactile and visual for me. Right now I have a cat that likes me to turn on the faucet but not off. Most of the times I have let it dribble because I forget to turn it off. I am caught in the in-between.
[Note to Barb: Thank you for guiding us this morning. How are you doing? I keep thinking about you and the godawful derecho windstorm. Susie]
In the Grey
I keep returning to the edges
of decisions,
never simple black and white,
looking for a way to leap across
the creek or scuttle
from flat stone to flat stone
to get to the other side of that fulcrum
and past the muddy goo of indecision;
but I teeter,
hesitate,
even sit down in the scratchy weeds,
chiggers biting my ankles,
and look for other ways to cross,
contemplate the wobble of the stones,
the rush of the water,
the temperature of the hot, sticky sun on my neck,
the meadow of mullein and milkweed on the far side,
while a pileated hammers on hickory at the tree line,
tapping out some primeval code
that guides her ambition,
and I look for signs
that bring me to my feet,
shed my shoes, and wade
into the current to stand there,
still,
wet and soaked
in the grey.
by Susie Morice©
Susie, you’ve captured the muddy goo of wallowing that causes us to be stuck during decisions. The returning to the edges captured me. It seems to be what happens with me when I’m looking for a way through – that hesitation to engage fully keeps me at the edge. Having the pileated hammering primeval code just before the narrator is brought to her feet is an echo of the ambition lying inside. Very cool.
Susie,
You’ve chosen a wonderful title for your poem. “Grey” locates us in that gray area where we make decisions. Every image resonates as I think about trails I’ve hiked, creeks I’ve crossed, all the decisions I’ve made that locate me in this place, in this time as I’m
Dare I say how stuck in the mud of indecision I often feel these days? As often happens, I love everything about your poem and find it strangely comforting. Thank you.
—Glenda
Susie, I hate to keep saying “as always” but it’s true! As always, I’m swept away by the beauty of your poetry, word choices, and the sheer magic that happens when you put pen to paper, fingertips to keys.
The end made me want to stand there with you, “wet and soaked in the grey.” In my mind, a beautiful serene place to be. Lovely, my friend!
Susie, thanks for thinking of me. I’ll be great if I get a walking boot on Tuesday. My brother said his streets are still filled with debris, but they started removing the limbs on Friday. What a world! Now, to what’s really important–your poem! It is truly beautiful. You carried me back to my childhood when we would often wander in the woods. I could clearly visualize milkweed, and I itched just thinking about chiggers as I’ve had my share of those. Nonetheless, I love how you use these specific details of nature to show how hard it can be to reach a decision. Sheer genius! The end is so emotional….”wet and soaked/in the grey.” Wow! I feel that all the time! How often I think, “if only….” Thanks for sharing such a rich and provocative poem! Hugs!
Susie, I am there with you wallowing in the muck. Indecisive. Speculative to a fault – weighing, arguing with self. Your first line had me – I keep returning to the edges. This boundary of decisions and of second guessing is a common meeting place for me. I love it!
1968 Was Not a Very Good Year
That frosty winter day the air hung heavy with the stench of unwanted changes
like a whore’s cheap perfume or a humid summer day in Mississippi
something was about to change
it was there, lurking like a black widow spider eyeing the fly
something was about to change, again.
As I stood there ironing Dad’s work shirt, the steam from the iron engulfing my young face
she sat there on the edge of the couch, almost ready to pounce
I was always scared of her, especially her temper and her words . . . oh, her words
something was about to change
It was there in her fierce gaze staring at me so intently
something was about to change, again.
As she opened her mouth to speak, I instinctively knew I did not want to listen
Deliberately, I pressed out every crease in that shirt
something was about to change
“If your Dad and I were to split up, who would you want to go with?
something was about to change, again.
Quiet fell, heavy, tomb-like, with no light to guide the way
To give her what she wants to hear, an automatic death sentence
To speak the truth meant pain for her, and I knew for me as well
something was about to change
She would unsheathe the sword of her devastating temper
something was about to change, again.
“Well, the way things are going now, I think I want to stay with Dad.”
Silence screaming, wailing, and ricocheting off the walls
“I would expect no less from YOU.”, she spit back.
Something was about to change
Something was about to change, again.
Judi Opager
September 19, 2020
Oh gosh, Judi — This really comes like a looming hammer between the eyes of a young girl facing that anger that you know is coming. What a mess of a decision moment. The image of you with the iron (this is just perfect) pressing and the motion of that comes through…that back and forth…so perfect for indecision and decision. The repetition of “about to change” works like the iron…it keeps coming at me as the reader, bringing on that looming tone. The title is such an understatement of the magnitude of the decision…a very effective way to start off a bit light and then swing into the pendulum of the iron and the looming tone. This is really a terrific poem, but it is more importantly a heartbreaking moment… this really rips at the emotional rift of anger and the repetitive image of a pressing iron…the “creases” — great wordsmithing. I’m really feeling for you at that moment…and it is so clearly still right here in your heart. Whoof! Sending a hug. Susie
Thank you, Susie, for your wonderful words to me, I take them deep into my heart. Isn’t it amazing and yet sometimes so awful how we must return, in full measure, toTHAT time, THAT place, and inhabit THAT space and moment in order for the truth of the words we write to reveal themselves? I am always humbled by the journey back in time. Again, my new friend, I thank you.
Judi,
This poem is so powerful. It took me back to those tense, uncomfortable scenes of my childhood and divorce. The “silence screaming, wailing, and ricocheting off the wall” – wow!
So powerful.
“She would unsheathe the sword of her devastating temper“
Oh, the devastation of hurtful words. Life changes instantly.
Hey, I grew up in Manhattan Beach and lived in Redondo for a time as well! I miss my hometown!
I had an angry mother too. I held my breath when I read the question, “If your Dad and I were to split up, who would you want to go with?” It’s a trap. If you answer honestly, you will feel the rage. If you lie, you betray yourself. How brave you were to speak your truth!
Judi—I entered a movie scene here. The detail, the rising tension—all of it. Shattering.
Stuggles
Finding balance between culture
(who I am, my people. how we are treated, etc., etc.), and
being a Christian
Wanting to stand and fight for the cause, but
Believing that God is in control and fights for me
Wanting to speak up and speak out, while
Trying to season my words with salt and be the light.
Believing that Black Lives Matter, and
The fervent, effectual prayers of the righteous availeth much.
Knowing there is good and bad in every aspect of this life:
Good White People and Bad White People
Good Black People and Bad Black People
Good Police Officers and Bad Police Officers
Good Politicians and Bad Politicians
Good Teachers and Bad Teachers
Good Parents and Bad Parents
Trusting that Jesus’ death has overcome it all.
Donetta, I really do feel this struggle in the opposing forces you pull us across in the lines and repetition. The capital letters also strike me at names — collective ways of being at the ends of these spectrums of humanity. In some ways , it is either-or and in others there is this faith and fight you navigate in “Trying to season my words with salt and be the light.” Trust and faith is our guide.
Peace,
Sarah
I love the way this poem blends so that we, the readers, can get an understanding of these struggles. My favorite part was: “Wanting to speak up and speak out, while
Trying to season my words with salt and be the light.” People are complicated and sometimes I think we get so caught up in our individual identities/labels that we forget that ALL of the labels apply and work (or conflict) together. Thank you for sharing these words Donnetta!
Oh, Donnetta, you have so clearly expressed these struggles in your poem.
Wow! This:
So true. But I sense some Amos in you, sister.
Donnetta,
I gave up on religion back in the 90s, but when I read poems about faith from black people such as yourself and Stacey Jo’, I pause to remember the good in Christ’s teachings and remind myself to focus on the true Christians out in the world walking the walk. Your faith is stronger than mine.
—Glenda
As soon as it mentioned decision making I was reminded of when I decided to hold off on entering the field as a teacher and go for another year of college so I could get my Master’s degree. Looking back it was definitely the best decision for me, though at the time I felt so overwhelmed making it. I tried to capture that in the poem:
—-
“Degree of Uncertainty”
I duck and weave
between booths and bodies,
paper after paper
passes my fingers
into the outstretched palms
of principals and other professionals.
“Thank you for considering me.”
“Working with students will be a joy.”
“I look forward to hearing from you soon.”
Disingenuous dialogue
but this is what I’m supposed to do
Right?
Questions bubble in the back
“Am I ready?”
I stumble and stop
swirls of suits and skirts
paper after paper
clutched to my chest
held back by my doubts
“No, I don’t want this.”
I need more knowledge,
more time,
more maturity.
I can feel it bloom,
a desire I didn’t know I had
until faced with the decision:
career or college.
“I’m getting my Master’s degree.”
Erica!
I love the first lines especially — the rhythm of a decision
There really is no in-between with this – is there. You do it or don’t. And you did it!
Sarah
Paper after paper. The repetition really works to move the poem forward. I love how your were able to zoom in on the decision: career or college without any background noise. Such clarity is a gift.
Erica your poem reminds me of the stress and overwhelming feelings I had when I was trying to decide whether or not to quit my job to obtain my teaching degree; and like you, I did it. It was the best decision I have ever made. I am my happiest as a teacher. I love your writing style for this poem also.
I love the pace of your poem, the spirit you capture in words. Your theme reminds me of a conversation I had with a coworker this week about the “imposter syndrome” that lurks within making us feel at times unworthy of our calling and defeated. It is a battle.
Erica, you did capture that. Beautifully done. I like the “disingenuous dialogue” with all the questions bubbling up in back. You are convincing with your need to get more knowledge, time and maturity. I’m glad it was the right decision for you.
Erica — Your first stanza pulled me in. I felt the tension and stress as you “ducked and weaved between booths & bodies”, and could totally relate to that feeling of uncertainty. I loved your use of alliteration throughout: “stumble and stop/swirls of suits and skirts …”
Barb, this prompt is great! What a good way to get the gears turning on the first day! I wrote about a difficult breakup from my senior year of high school. It was a difficult decision at the time, but now looking back I can see without a doubt that I made the right one.
“White Flag”
Black and wet, my old mascara streaked
In downward lines that lead across my face
And stained below my eyes and on my cheeks
The blush of romance, gone without a trace
My hands were trembling, resting on the wheel
And to my right I saw his red front door
I knew I couldn’t stay out here and wait
I knew I couldn’t take it anymore
His words, like scars that burned inside my skin
Reminders of the pain that I had felt
Were screaming out and pulling from within
Lest I forget each blow that he had dealt
I raised a white flag among his, all red
When next we met alone, both filled with hate
The words I felt were not easily said
But then at last, those words granted my fate
Annie the emotions in this poem are so powerful — break ups are always hard and I think you captured a lot of those feelings brilliantly here. I especially love the imagery in the opening lines “Black and wet, my old mascara streaked
In downward lines that lead across my face”
Annie!
I read this a few times — the last time, I read the final word of each line to revisit some of your words. There is such rhythm in the sounds of your words — every word. This line really resonated with me because, well, scars do not go away – such wounds remain.
Sarah
Annie — I really felt the intensity of this moment and this decision. Your imagery “black and wet, my old mascara streaked” and “the blush of romance, gone without a trace” was so vivid. Sounds like you really did make the right choice.
I felt the tension, maybe some fear, but at last doing the hard thing was absolutely the right thing. Strong emotions pulled me in.
Awakening After RBG
The morning after RBG
Finished her good fight
Sun said, “ no, I will not shine.”
Clouds gathered, blanketing
Gray skies, bowing billowy heads
Grieving our fallen Shero
Weeping rain dropped tears
That cannot stop, &
Earth cracked open because
The center cannot hold.
We cannot hold back the
Tide of anarchy upon us.
This cancer metastasizes,
Seizing the body politic,
While all around we mourn,
Raise our swords, change our
Profile pictures, & steel our courage to
“Do something to repair tears” in
Our bodies. Awakening the morning after
We respectfully say, “I dissent.”
—Glenda Funk
Glenda,
Thank you for this memorial. Gosh, I feel like we have some one, some thing to mourn each month we reconvene. With the loss of this force of humanity, I also felt this sense that, well, now that she is not here to do the work, who will. We must. And I hope this becomes another movement. Your words –
Swords of courage!
Sarah
Glenda — I almost couldn’t read your poem this morning, as I am still so utterly broken by the loss of RBG. I’ve been just a train wreck, thinking about this iconic woman and the
I have this exact sense of OMG. You’ve done a beautiful job of saying what needs saying for this incredible leader. Thank you for that. Susie
My friend, yes, this speaks for so many of us this morning, the morning after RBG. Brilliantly written. The first stanza is artistry in action. I see every image. The second stanza is revolutionary! I love you and this poem!
Such powerful word about RBG and about our current state.
Glenda, thank you for your homage to RBG this morning. You honor her and this moment. I am still nursing a broken heart.
It is cloudy here, too…I almost appreciate and welcome the somber, cooler weather. Sunshine and blue skies would feel disrespectful or almost condescending.
I feel this loss in my body, too. (As I’ve physically felt the blows and psychically carried the weight over the past four years.) I am struck by your use of the “body” in the poem: both ” the body politic” and “our bodies.”
I raise my fist with you.
Thank you for writing about RBG! I just keep crying. You capture the pain so well. What an extraordinary person, yes, our Shero. I really like these two lines together,
Glenda,
Thank you for your powerful tribute and challenge to the Notorious RBG.
I love this here, with the weeping that can’t stop and the cracked earth.
Like Sarah said, thank you for the call to action. Raise our swords!
Raise our swords, change our
Profile pictures, & steel our courage to
“Do something to repair tears” in
Our bodies. Awakening the morning after
We respectfully say, “I dissent.”
Yes, yes, and yes, Glenda. I always love reading your poems because your words always express what I’m feeling but cannot express myself. Your call to action inspires me and I hope we continue fighting her fight.
Glenda, your poetry is always so timely and so perfectly stated. Your final line will continue to resonate with me. We have truly lost a beautiful and wise leader. Thanks for sharing this clear perspective of our troubled nation and our broken hearts.
Glenda—is 2020 never going to end? Once again, we are in the same place emotionally. I am so afraid that things are just going to keep spiraling down. The cancer metastasizes, indeed.
Glenda, this is a beautiful and poignant way to commemorate this date and remember RBG. I always love your way of thinking about events that are happening in the world as you write.
Glenda,
I still can’t believe she is gone. We are in such a volatile climate right now. Your words hold so much truth:
“We cannot hold back the
Tide of anarchy upon us.
This cancer metastasizes,
Seizing the body politic,”
Your last line “We respectfully say, ‘I dissent”” made me smile through my tears. Thank you for this beautiful poem.
Barb, thank you for this prompt. Just what I needed to process some feelings that have been stirring. I have missed writing poetry since our last 5-Day Challenge. I look forward to this each month. I just finished reading The Hate U Give by Angie Thomas. The main character, Starr, has to decide whether or not to come forward as a witness to a friend being killed by a cop. Her decision changes everything. This triggered my own personal thoughts about when my son was killed by a drunk driver and the decision we made to prosecute did not end up with any sort of justice.
The Right Thing
By Nancy White
Sometimes doing the right thing
Does not end up happily ever after
Doing the right thing is the hardest thing
And it probably won’t make things right
Because there’s a system that works against Us,
The ones who have a silent scream
We dare not dream of justice
I did everything right
But the truth was not heard
It became twisted like the mangled car parts
Strewn upon the street.
You somehow became the wrong-doer
Though you lay still on the ground
And on a cold marble slab.
The story was told
But there were half truths and innuendo
There were all of Us sitting in two rows
Holding our breath until we heard, “NOT GUILTY”.
Yet in spite of all that agonizing
And the crushing blow of injustice
There is the small ripple of truth
That will not die and will join with other truths and
BUILD
Into a wave of righteousness
I knew I couldn’t NOT speak.
I would not change do things differently.
Doing the right thing is always right
Even if it’s not good enough.
Even if all hell breaks lose and Nana says
“When it rains like that when the sun’s out,
The devil is beating his wife.”
Yeah, the shit storm is gonna happen,
I can’t be silent.
I won’t be silent.
When it all burns down
The truth will set you free.
Nancy, we often talked in class about how the right thing is often more difficult. This becomes more apparent the longer we live, but Angie Thomas brings it home for younger readers when they most struggle with these choices. Death at the hands of police, twisted like mangled car parts plays out for us again and again on real streets, and hits home in the discarded imagery. Those last four lines – just wow!
You’ve done a wonderful job here of universalizing the text of The Hate U Give. I loved that book and also the movie. Angie Thomas is from my home town, so I have a strong bond to her work. You describe the difficult decision of doing the right thing. I love your metaphor of “twisted like mangled car parts.” Thanks for sharing.
Nancy, you pulled on everything inside me with your poem, your heart lives in every word. I have rage over this injustice. My son was hit by a drunk driver a few years ago and survived. As grateful as I am for his life being spared, justice was not served. So your poem hits me really hard. The visual of this stanza brought me to tears:
Then I felt a sense of hope and faith that we will eventually have and see justice, but it allhas to burn down first, yes!
Thank you for this poem and for your strength to share. Praying for the same truth and justice as you are.
Stacey, thanks for your response. I’m so glad your son is OK. I really do believe justice will have its way in the grand scheme of things. I’m honored that my poem touched you. Thanks for your prayers! ?
Nancy,
How the hell does someone die at the hands of a drunk driver and the drunk driver is found “not guilty”? No truer words than these:
Your poem and your mother’s pain break my heart.
—Glenda
Thank you, Glenda. It happens when someone who had been drinking with his buddies at a bachelor party commits a hit and run and then waits 24 hours to become sober before turning himself in. It happens when a judge suppresses evidence and seems to side with the defense. The system is rigged. But, even if there was a conviction, he’d probably have only served a short time in jail. That’s the way it is here in CA.
Nancy, first let me say I am so deeply sorry for your tragic loss. Injustices are so frustrating and they do create exactly as you describe “a shirt storm”. Thank you for sharing such a terrific and powerful poem. As hard as we try to make the world a better place, it can be truly corrupt and ugly. I applaud your final stanza. It clearly depicts your fantastic strength of will Thank you for sharing such a deeply personal and moving poem! Peace be with you!
Nancy,
I am so so sorry for your loss. I cried through this poem. Your last stanza — Wow!
“Yeah, the shit storm is gonna happen,
I can’t be silent.
I won’t be silent.
When it all burns down
The truth will set you free”
I hate dropping students from my courses, but we are both pressured to retain students and drop those who fall below required attendance levels. I hate not knowing what has happened to a student, why they just stop showing up (especially now – all online). Despite the workload of overcrowded online courses, I take no joy in having one less student. I want them to stay and to succeed.
You Are Withdrawn
I cut and paste
your student number
into the electronic form
I wait while the
great mechanism
silently spins and whirs
You name
magically appears
I click the toggle
“Reason for Withdraw”
scroll the list
“Excessive Absences”
I pause
Should I give you
just one more day?
“Have compassion”
our admins refrain
in this time of Covid
Are you sick?
Are you dead?
Maybe a new job?
Have I done enough?
Have I tried enough?
after multiple emails
calling your home
& emergency contacts
I have no answers
I know this will damage
your financial aid
your academic record
make it all the harder
for you to come back
to try again
I have waited long enough
I click “Submit”
silently spin and whir
the form
your name
magically disappear
you are withdrawn
Denise, the mechanics of this, the click, spin, whir, and the hardness of the sounds of the electronics, the cut and paste, cause us to feel your struggle with the humanity in the decision. That last line echoing the title emphasized the finality. This would be so difficult.
I was really amazed by the emotion in this poem despite mostly using technical terminology! You could think it would make the poem cold, but instead all I can think about are the concerns the person behind the computer must have for the student they are making “disappear.” I can definitely relate to those concerns about doing enough or being compassionate enough. Thank you for sharing.
Denise,
This is too much to saddle an instructor with. Both teaching high school and night classes at our local university, the task of withdrawing students never fell on me. We sense the burden you feel. Yet the mechanics of the process also turn humans into conduits of the system. I’m sad for the student and for you.
—Glenda
Denise, I love how you take a small moment or what could be considered a small decision and consider all the precursors and consequences. Like the others who commented, I appreciate the juxtaposition of the technical language with the emotional weight of this moment. The word “withdrawn” carries so much weight…and we feel that heaviness at the end of your poem.
Denise, the decisions you make are difficult in the best of times. I can only imagine how difficult COVID has made them. I was so disappointed to see names of students on yesterday’s eligibility list that would not have been there last year. They are students who chose the virtual learning option and are just not succeeding. I have to wonder what their story is. This isn’t getting any easier.
Denise, I like the mechanical nature of this poem. There is a near musical appeal to it as the click and whir of the machinery reduce such an emotional process to a mere computer’s action.
Barb, thanks for your prompt this morning. I love a prompt that sends me to memory, then takes my hand somewhere I didn’t plan to go. Last summer my parents moved to a retirement home. Cleaning out their house consumed me and brought up so many emotions. I am grateful they were present to help with some of the difficult decisions.
The Notebooks
Sorting through the stuff of their lives,
I touch things they kept
wonder at the meaning of it all,
this keeping of things.
Reading a few pages in a notebook,
I hand it to her, “Keep or toss?”
She reads a page, touches
it softly with her aging hand, placing it
on the throw-away pile.
I look at my mother’s face,
try to read the faraway look in her eyes,
and wonder about my own stash of notebooks
piling up in my closet.
I find value in writing, sorting
feelings word by word in cursive swirls.
But here–kneeling beside my mother…
She turns her head, says she can’t think anymore.
“No need to keep any of them.”
I open the large black trash bag
and throw away
her life.
Oh! The finality of that last image of the black trash bag packs a powerful wallop. We did this recently for my grandmother who passed away. And I’ve watched my mother continually pare down her things so that we don’t have to face this. That faraway look, the inability to “think anymore” – you’ve captured it.
Margaret, what a heart-wrenching poem. I, too, have several notebooks with passages I would feel uncomfortable sharing with others. You develop that discomfort so well in this poem. I can clearly envision you with your mother in this scene. I had to fight the tears at the end. The direct line from your mother sets the final action up so perfectly. The whole poem resonates with emotion; the decisions we wish we did not have to make when trying to decide what to keep and what to discard. Thanks for sharing such a heart-felt poem!
Oh wow. I know this feeling. My sisters and I went through this with my parents. And now that I’m retired I’m decluttering my life and wondering about things that I’ve kept, untouched in the garage for 40 years. I love the last line: “and throw away her life.” That is exactly how it feels. Heart wrenching. But, the truth is that life is not in these things. Life lives on eternally and in our memories. Thanks for reminding me of this.
Margaret, my heart goes out to you – what a moment and making decisions like this one hit home. I like how you bring us to that time with you. There’s a reassuring feeling knowing that others are making tough decisions about things and doing the hard work of the heart and then being able to help others through times like these. Love it. Hugs!
Margaret, this was hauntingly beautiful. I can only imagine how hard this scenario would be. I love how at the end of the poem, the line “her life” is almost hidden, separated from the rest of the stanza in a way. I can feel the reluctance you have in that part the most.
What an incredibly evocative poem! It hit home so deeply for me that it made me cry! BRAVO !
Margaret,
I’m sure we’re all feeling these words from your poem:
And I’m wondering if my notebooks will be tossed, will the metaphorical notebooks in the cloud vanish in a breeze? My heart is just too tender to contemplate these things this morning. Thank you.
—Glenda
Ohhh Margaret, what a hard pill to swallow! I felt all the feels with your poem. Remembering packing up my childhood home but for a different reason. Not sure I’ll write about that. Still pondering.
I love how the notebooks were the centering of memory collectors. Of all the things we can touch and toss or keep, notebooks would be one of the things I would struggle to toss. So the end was particularly hard to imagine.
She turns her head, says she can’t think anymore.
“No need to keep any of them.”
I open the large black trash bag
and throw away
her life.
I wonder now are you considering asking your mom about those notebooks or is it best left alone? Wow. I’m still feeling like I want to go back to that bag and get them out.
Thank you! Truly a treasure to read this poem this morning.
The image of the last stanza has brought tears to my eyes. Coupled with my connection to finding value in writing, sorting feelings word by word, I wonder if this too will be the fate of my life and my notebooks someday. I am so sorry you and your mom have come to this. I pray the peace of God and his blessings for you both and your family at such a time as this and going forward.
My case is the opposite. My mom told me to throw away the diaries she kept and even inventoried. She has been gone four years now, and I still have them store in the garage. I suppose I justify my actions by telling myself that, at least, I haven’t read them (yet).
Oh what a hard decision this is! I go through this almost every day as I have the writings, photos and films from my parents and have found myself keeping most of it. What to do? Then I notice that I have also piled up memories of my life and think that I don’t want my children to have to decide. During this pandemic lockdown, I have more time to sort and put things on the throw away pile. Your poem has pushed me to do more sorting while I can.
I’m deep into what to keep so this really hit home. Heart wrenching.
Educated
I wanted to “fit in” to this new arena
To be one of them
Still do
I’m working to figure out how
To abandon
Who I once was
Or make room
For cultured nuances
I thought eventually
I would master the art
But the country girl keeps surfacing
She won’t go away
Showing up at all the wrong times
Grand entrance
Tripping over bad usage
Past phrases
Stupid, stupid, stupid
Why did I say that?
Think faster
Audience aware
Civilized speech
I answer,
“I’m doing well.”
Jolie, I love that you continue to work at it. I can relate to the “stupid, stupid, stupid” that comes from second guessing and the “think faster” that comes from rethinking. The visual of the country girl tripping over bad usage works perfectly.
Jolie, I am curious about your poem as I read it; wondering if you are reflecting the female character from Educated memoir that is so popular. I started reading it, and then put it down to read some other books so I have not finished it, but I could see where it might be reflecting her experience. However, I love how you share the awkwardness we often experience if we feel like we are suddenly speaking with a language we grew up with that is not perfect usage. I always feel like a dolt when I suddenly say something I know is not correct. I love how your poem leads to the final line! Thank you for sharing such a moment we can all relate to!
My favorite part of reading our creative texts includes trying to interpret the intentions of meaning. I have read Tara Westover’s memoir (and I loved it); however, this piece is about me embarking on the Ph.D. Journey. I would guess that why I liked the memoir, relevance. Thanks for sharing. As I reread the poem under the lens of Westover’s work, I definitely see the connection.
Barb, this comment makes me really think twice about assuming the speaker in the poems here are the writer.
Jolie, I’m with you! I’m not sure whether you’re writing from the author’s perspective of the popular book or whether this is about you or a little of both, but let me tell ya – I’m so glad I have friends who can sit beside me at a formal dinner table and laugh as we all daub a bit of the drizzled chocolate fudge from our dessert brownies on a front tooth, hold up our forks, smile big, and take a “toothless” rhinestone-studded selfie. Embrace the blend of being uniquely you, country girl, and come sit by me at the next dinner party! This is fun and down to earth – and cultured too!
Jolie,
Your poem hits on a universal idea: how to belong when we feel out of place. I’ve struggled w/ this my whole life and often echo your lines
I feel all the feels in your poem. Thank you.
—Glenda
Jolie, you are doing good, so much good!
Barb, I like how you showed us that poems can be used to show characters’ feelings and that phrases from text can be used. That’s a powerful strategy for thinking about a character’s feelings. Thank you for investing in us today! This topic hit HOME – big time! I needed this cathartic writing today.
Divisive Decisions
brain cancer
glioblastoma, stage 3.5
diagnosed December 2019
we spent Christmas at Piedmont Atlanta Hospital when families could still visit
she came home with a paralyzed right side
not uncommon after brain surgery
started therapy
at Warm Springs Rehab
“we need to get them some help”
the sons urged
“dad can’t do this by himself….he’s 84
and she can’t walk”
“we’ll all take turns…. we’ve got this”
the daughter
decided unanimously
all by herself
for everyone
and became
an overnight cheerleader
then she lost
her glitzy hair bow and pompoms
her manicure faded
and the stress
of the no-help decision
aged her drastically
the sons had full time jobs
the sons knew
their dad wasn’t equipped to be a full-time caretaker
the sons saw the limitations
the daughter balked
the daughter said
no to help
no to hospice
no to living
no to dying
“no drug-induced stupors here” she swore
thus proving that some stupors aren’t
the sons begged for comfort measures
the sons pleaded for medical mercy
for their mother
but full medical power was granted the daughter
“I see crying but I don’t see tears” the daughter pointed out….
the daughter accused the sons of not helping more
the sons accused the daughter of abuse and neglect of their mother
the fighting got ugly
the fighting continues
a feckless father
watches
as his
wordless wife
wails and writhes
in her corner chair
every day
all day long
as his children disagree –
draw lines
end unity
as a family falls apart –
from once-upon-a-time
Florida vacations
under the same big roof
in the same warm sunshine
as a life ends –
a mother whose
greatest pride was always
her precious family
some decisions
are beyond difficult
decisions about death
can be
divisively impossible
Oh, Kim. I feel every part of this. The difficulty, the strain, the divisiveness, the no right answer. Your line, “I see crying but I don’t see tears” coming midway, the fulcrum on which all this balances. Wow! Hugs to you.
This is a cautionary poem for everyone. As I proceeded through it, I almost felt like I shouldn’t keep reading because it was a far too private family matter. But that’s just the point, isn’t it? These are the kinds of matters that need to be discussed, and we need to see models of what works and what doesn’t. This line pair struck me as the most poignant: “no drug-induced stupors here” she swore / thus proving that some stupors aren’t. It’s a subtle way of raging against this sister character. For all the strife, the narrator is this poem remains cooly objective, leaving the reader on that same fence. A great poem to invite discussion on end of life matters.
Oh Kim. I’m so moved by this. One side of my family has fallen apart over decisions made during my mother and father-in-law’s passing. Now no one gathers, no one speaks. No more family Thanksgivings. It’s heartbreaking. I love how you ended with:
decisions about death
can be
divisively impossible
So true.
Oh, Kim, thanks for sharing this heart-wrenching poem! I wish I could give you a hug right now. Your words describe the “divisively impossible” situation so well. I can personally relate to this from more than one experience so I’m finding it difficult to respond. Your powerful portrayal resonates and I am totally empathetic. Peace be with you! Thanks for sharing such a magnificent, powerful and honest poem.
Oh, my. I feel every emotion thrown into this poem, the diagnosis, the helplessness of mother and father, the tearing apart of daughter and sons. These are tough times. I pray Love will see you through.
Kim,
This poem is so full of pain, and I can’t help but read it as a woman who recognizes the ways women’s lives and choices are limited and controlled by men. Thus this poem, this story reads like an allegory of women’s suffrage and suffering, both the physical pain from disease, and the metaphysical pain from having our lives marginalized. These lines anger me:
Just because we have words doesn’t mean we have speech. I’m living in this moment of juxtaposition. I’m sure you understand. Thank you.
OMG Kim, I don’t even have the words to express how your poem impacted me. I’m sending you loving prayers for support, first and foremost. I also pray that your family will heal from the “divisively impossible” decisions. You’ve captured everyone’s emotions so clearly and yet I would bet your brothers think you have no idea how they feel. Wow. Hugs sent your way!
Kim — You brought the brutal reality to my own doorstep. This is just so chocked full of the reality of family and the ungluing that comes with this kind of decision. Oh man. Whoof. This is all so recent for you… you have been carrying such a load, my friend. Holy cow, holy cow. The irony in the lines
just nail the sadness of the decisions. The part of this that sticks with me the most is the striking difference in what a daughter sees and knows and what the men in the family see and think. Geez, none of this is easy stuff. Your poem carries that weight so well. Whew. I think about this sort of decision as I realize that my own life will create decisions for my two nieces. It was a hit like none other and I thought I’d never recover when my mom died suddenly of a massive heart attack, but if I get any kind of vote, I hope to heaven I follow my mom’s path. Thank you for such a personal poem, such an open and honest look into the complexity of decisions. You are such a strong writer, my friend. Susie
Kim, I bear witness to this family, sitting alongside the daughter, sitting across from the sons, sitting miles away from what was. You show us the “beyond” and how it still weighs heavy on what is most precious. I am alongside and yet this is also my story. Hugs.
Kim,
Gosh, you put a very private and painful reality that so many families face into such a detail-rich, emotion-packed poem. Every line propels us forward. And we hurt with the speaker. We hurt with you.
Hugs!
Deeply personal and deeply universal. Healing will come, I pray.
Landmarks
(Jennifer Guyor Jowett)
Somewhere on the road
between mile marker 48 and 53,
I lost myself.
The navigation tools
(pocket compass flipped open,
map unfolded, its seams deteriorated,
Rules of the Road dogeared,
Triptik highlighted,
internal GPS)
had been flung,
one
by
one,
out the window.
Earth’s magnetic field
pulled both north and south.
The destination,
once clear,
lies hidden,
a polar star
buried
under heaps of earth,
loamy soil, hardened clay,
and infinite grains of sand
filling every space
within the blackened hole.
I spun in forests,
one tree
much like the last,
until I found myself
at water’s edge,
the sea filled with salty tears
flowing downhill
from rivers
and creeks,
sourced from one
cheek-coursing drop.
Jennifer, what a beautiful and poignant poem! The specific details of this uncharted trip are startling clear. I absolutely love the end where “the sea filled with salty tears/flowing downhill/from rivers/and creeks, sourced from one, cheek-coursing drop.” It carries such an emotional charge. Wow! Such an original last line and pow! Thank you for sharing!
Ah! You have wonderful imagery with a clear tone. From the beginning of “I lost myself” to the ending of “cheek-coursing drops,” I can sense the ebb and flow of this journey. I especially love the image of the “water’s edge, / the sea filled with salty tears / flowing downhill.” I can recall the moments in my life where one tear led to a small pond, then a creek, a river, and finally, an ocean of catharsis. Thanks for sharing.
Jennifer, this is so deep and so engaging and riveting. I felt like I was right there with you. So much of life right now feels this way. There is no GPS or roadmap. It all gets flung out the window. There is so much reality in this dreamlike poem and I needed this journey with you this morning!
You spin us around and then drop us into the salty water flowing from “one cheek-coursing drop.” Gut punched.
Jennifer, I find the travel and geography imagery in your poem comforting, compelling, and timely. These lines resonate w/ me:
This morning I can’t help but wonder, where do we go from here in this travelers moment full of monumental change. Thank you.
Jennifer, I really enjoyed all of the specific (and vivid) details and the way the poem moved down the page (the “one / by / one” each on its own line, especially). Thanks for sharing this!
I love the powerful imagery in your poem, especially: “Earth’s magnetic field pulled both north and south.” Simple science, but so difficult in our lives.
Decisions
The most difficult decisions are the inconsequential
No ‘right’ answer – no clear path
Or by ‘difficult, do we mean
painful?
The decision – easy But
The Consequence
Unfathomable
The dark night of the soul is not about making the choice itself
But about the agony of knowing that here
everything
Changes
Val! I wish I had written “the dark night of the soul.” It’s just beautiful. The weight of it, its truth, holds the agony. Those last four lines – what a punch! They completely encapsulate every feeling I have right now.
Val, Oh my gosh, this is such a thought-provoking poem. Your lines: “The Consequence/Unfathomable” are rich with meaning. I agree there are decisions we make that we really do not realize will be consequential. So often we do not know which way to go, what the right decision is because we are only human, but our decisions can have a life-changing impact! Genius!
The word “inconsequential” got me thinking about how each decision, influenced by the butterfly effect, becomes “unfathomable” as you mentioned. Yes, our decisions have consequences – the turmoil of not knowing, but the “agony of knowing that here / everything / changes.” Yes! Mostly, change is good. Thanks for sharing.
Your poem tells of the dilemma we face every day, decisions that may seem inconsequential, yet once made, everything changes.
Val, that dark night of the soul is the line where it all jumped out and grabbed me. And I like the idea that the decisions are not about the decisions really but about the consequences and the changes that result. Your writing applies to so many people no matter what they are facing. It’s universally thought provoking!
Val, you have powerfully described something I’ve experienced several times—a decision that you know you must make. You know the answer and you must act upon it. Now. And it changes everything. You captured this perfectly in these lines:
The dark night of the soul is not about making the choice itself/But about the agony of knowing that here/everything
Changes
Val, your poem reminds me how important a clear moral and ethical compass is to our seemingly “inconsequential” decisions. I read something RBG said about the opportunities arising from things not going our way. Thank you.
—Glenda
Such powerful words
Unfathomable
The dark night of the soul is not about making the choice itself
But about the agony of knowing that here
everything
changes
WOW –
So very true and aren’t these decisions the ones we often look back and second guess ourselves?!
Hello Val, I like that you brought up how inconsequential decisions are often what cause the most agony. There are so many decisions that are major decisions, but they do not have a clear-cut path as to what is the “right decision.”