POETRY FRIDAY

I've spent this week teaching at my district's New Educator Institute. One thousand brand new, hot off the press, baby teachers.  I love working with new teachers. I love seeing them decked out in their brand new business casual teacher wear. Listening to their  dreams. Inhaling all that shiny hopefulness. I am so glad they have chosen to enter this teacher life that I so, so, so love.

And at the same time, I know how hard this job can be. I know about the lesson plans and team meetings and desk piles. I know about growth objectives and test prep and data dives. And cocktail party conversations and radio talk shows that make me swear and bang the dashboard. I know that many of these baby teachers will not return next year. And that almost half will be gone within five years. 

And I listen to all their bright, shiny, new dreams and I feel so sad. Because we need them to stay. So this morning, instead of finishing the template that was due two weeks ago, or responding to the 35 assignments that got turned in at the class I taught last night, or cleaning house in preparation for the friend that is moving in next week, I'm messing around in maudlin poetry.

"A little advice to first year teachers…"

I watch you stride into

new educator institute

just-purchased teacher bag

filled with big ideas

and hopes and dreams

and I want to say

feed your soul.

please, feed your soul.

Next week

when you walk into that classroom

with the shelf of curriculum binders

guaranteed to prepare kids

for the Common Core

or the common good

or Armageddon

(whichever happens first)

get out your new journal

uncap your favorite pen

and write a letter

to remind yourself

of all the really important things

you want to do this year

feed your soul

please, feed your soul.

The weekend

before school starts

put away that foot-long list of things

you need to buy do create be

by Monday morning

and go to dinner with friends

eat warm chips and homemade salsa

raise glasses and

toast all that will be

laugh long into the night

feed your soul

please, feed your soul.

After that first observation

when the hour-long lesson you spent

four hours planning

totally flops

go for a bike ride

notice autumn leaves

turning redyelloworangered

breathe pumpkin and applecrisp 

feed your soul

please, feed your soul.

On Sunday afternoon

when you are supposed to

grade that never ending stack of

semi-convincing

persuasive essays

sit in a quiet corner of a

neighborhood coffee shop

order a large chai latte

and read for an hour

or two or three

feed your soul

please feed your soul.

In March

go somewhere beachy

dig your toes

into warm sand

take long afternoon naps

cheer as pinklavenderpurple sun

drops below the horizon

feed your soul

please feed your soul.

I watch you walking into

new educator institute

and I wonder if I should tell you

that this teacher life you have chosen

is rich rewarding wonderful

and also exhausting draining discouraging

and each day you will have to decide

which it will be

and the kids need you

to come back lugging that same bag

of hopes dreams big ideas

next year and the year after that

and yes, the next year too

so feed your soul

please feed your soul.

(c) Carol Wilcox

Mary Lee is hosting Poetry Friday this week. 

Head over there to graze on some real poetry.