SLICE #5: I really miss my mom...

 

I'm going to the theater tonight. 

Hamilton.

Need I say more?

Actually I do want to say a little more. 

I'm going to the theater tonight.

It's the first time I have gone since COVID.

Even more than that, 

it's the first time I have gone since my mom died in December.

My mom, who was 87, loved the theater. 

For many years, she and I bought season tickets. 

About once every six weeks, I would drive to Colorado Springs and pick her up.

We'd come back to Denver, 

have lunch at a little restaurant close to the theater, 

go to the show,

and then drive back to Colorado Springs. 

Or sometimes we'd go to the theater at night. 

Those times I would drive down and get her,

we'd check into a hotel (my house has too many stairs),

go to dinner, and go to the theater,  

spend the night in Denver, 

eat breakfast the next morning,

and head back to Colorado Springs. 

The trips were pretty exhausting. 

getting the wheelchair in and out of the car a zillion times, 

pushing her through the parking garage, 

in and out of crowded elevators,

and helping her transfer to regular chairs in restaurants and at the theater,

(she never wanted anyone to think she needed a wheelchair)

but I loved, loved, loved 

going to the theater with my mom

and now she's gone.

Tonight, I'm going to the theater by myself.

I'm looking forward to seeing Hamilton again

(my mom and I saw it four or five years ago)

but I think it's going to be a little hard.

I really miss my mom...

SLICE #4: JUST ANOTHER ORDINARY DAY IN SIXTH GRADE?

11:48

Two minutes until class is over. 

About ten sixth graders

cluster around the back table, 

working on an evidence paragraph.

We finish up and I send them back to their seats 

to pack up for lunch.

And then it happens.

Four or five military planes

 zoom over the school.

In formation.

A flyover.

This is not uncommon. 

I live near an airfield.

Planes fly over our school 

pretty regularly

They are always loud.

But today 

the noise feels deafening.

For a minute 

minor hysteria ensues.

Furniture tips over.

Kids dive under their desks.

There are screams. 

Comments about World War Three.

I restore order.

Turn furniture upright.

Remind kids that 

We hear flyovers

pretty regularly.

Tell my twelve-year-olds

that we are fine.

Dismiss for lunch.

M 

Class jokester

Fashion statement

In one white croc

And one black Nike

lingers 

uncharacteristically. 

Miss, he says.

I don't like those.

With everything 

that's happening

They scare me.

I think World War Three

Is coming. 

Honestly 

I don't know what to say. 

They scare me too. 

And like M

I wonder 

If World War Three

Is coming.

I give him a hug.

Rub his back. 

Because that is all

I know to do. 

DAY #3- A Bold Political Statement

 

I teach at a ECE-8 school. 

The seventh and eighth graders take care of the bulletin boards in the hall. 

The boards often have a holiday-ish theme, so I wasn't surprised when this one appeared about ten days ago.

Presidents' Day.

Forty-six Presidents' faces printed in ornate Baroque frames. 

Carefully cut out, around a million tiny curves. 

And stapled to the board. 

A little crooked, ok actually a lot crooked. 

But the effort was definitely there. 

The pictures had been there for a few days, when I happened to be standing in that hall waiting for my students to get out of specials. 

And I noticed that there was a hole in the bottom row. 

One of the presidents was missing.

Perhaps you can guess which one. 

The next day, there wasn't a hole.

Presidents Obama and Biden had been pushed together. 

Making the row appear complete.

But the next day, another hole in the bottom row.

And so it goes, every few days. 

One day the row appears complete.

But if you look closely, 

you know who won't be there. 

The next the hole is back;

I have never actually seen anyone moving the pictures.

But I can't help but wonder who is making such a bold political statement.

DAY #2: PLEASE COME BACK SOON...

 

I am annoyed when I turn the corner on my street. 

The parking in front of my house is completely filled up. 

Evidently one of my neighbors is having their house painted because there is a panel van, then another orange Honda with the same logo. There is also a black jeep. I assume it belongs to another painter. 

I park three or four doors down the street, grab my computer bag, and open the back of the car to unload Rooney. I am surprised, as I walk up the street, to see the driver's door on the Jeep open. I wonder who is waiting for me to get home. 

I do not recognize the woman until she opens her mouth, then I realize it is my sons' sister, Rashida. She lived with us on and off throughout her teenage years, leaving when my rules about chores and homework and dating got to be too much, then returning again when the world was too cruel. 

I have not seen her for seven or eight years. The last time I saw her, she  threw a broom across the kitchen so hard it left a hole in the wall, then slammed the door behind her, and left screaming that I would never see her again. 

"Hi, Rashida," I say. "What's going on?"

"My brother called. He said I have some mail here. I need my W-2."

"It's nice to see you," I say. "The boys will be home soon."

She shrugs and I wonder how long it has been since she has seen her brothers. I wonder if they have had some kind of a disagreement. My boys don't say a lot about their biological family. 

I dig through the mail on the coffee table making small talk while I hunt for her mail. Rashida tells me she is working at the airport, in the operations department. She has not seen my sons or her mother recently; they only call her when they need money. She is living with a friend, close to the airport, but is looking for an apartment by herself. She wants to move somewhere warmer and cheaper. She asks about Star, the dog she chose for our family fifteen years ago. 

I cannot stand the hugeness of the elephant in the room. I apologize. "Rashida, I'm so sorry. We haven't seen you for such a long time. I've missed you."

She cries. Apologizes. We hug. 

I cannot find the mail. I know it was there last weekend, because I stacked it up when I dusted but it seems to have disappeared. I assume the boys have put it somewhere. I dig through the pile a second time and then a third. Just then, my son walks through the door. 

He gives his only sister a flat greeting, "Hey."

"I can't find Rashida's mail," I say. 

My son knows exactly where it is. He goes into his room and comes out with a stack of mail. 

I think they might like a little time alone, so I take the dog and head outside. Less than ten minutes later Rashida comes out. 

"See ya," she says. 

"Please come back soon," I say. "Don't be such a stranger."

"I will," she says. "I'll come back soon."

SLICE #1- But What Do You Look Like

 

Monday, February 28.

I welcome my students, like I always do, 

taking special note of who is maskless.

There are only a few kids,

T is one of them.

I am not surprised.

He has struggled with masks all year.

Later, I work with him and several of his maskless buddies in a small group. 

"I love not wearing masks," says G. "I can breathe again."

"And you can see what people look like." says B,

casting a sideways glance at a current love interest.

"What do you look like?" T says to me.

The questions surprises me. 

"What do I look like?"

I don't quite know how to answer. 

I look like an old lady. I'm still a little offended by senior discounts.

I look like a veteran teacher.  Almost forty years in the classroom.

I look like a mom.

Two pretty much grown sons who still live in my house. But rarely talk to me. 

I look like a dog mom. 

Rooney, the service dog I'm training, 

snores in his basket at the side of the classroom. 

I look like a reader. A writer. A walker.

A beach lover. 

And this month, I look like a slicer. 

I think I've done this about ten times. 

And I'm looking forward to doing it again this year. 

Happy March!

Happy slicing!

Poetry Friday is Here!

 I thought about Poetry Friday a couple of days ago. And then this happened about ten miles from where I live today. And about six hundred families have lost their homes. And in between tracking down people I love, and seeing if any of Rooney's buddies might need shelter. I just kind of forgot. Leave your posts in the comments and I will round up in the morning. 

Thank you for all of your kind words and prayers and your patience with what has to to be the world's worst Poetry Friday hosting ever. In spite of several suggestions that I could skip the roundup today, I'm at least going to try. Thank you for all of your kind words...

An update on the fire- We have had about six inches of snow since yesterday afternoon, our first snow in over two hundred days. It's also bitterly cold. Right now, I’m absolutely heartbroken thinking not only about the 600+ families that have lost homes, but somehow, the thing that is bothering the most is the animals. Some pets have been confirmed dead, however, some are believed to be alive, and wandering the neighborhoods around the fires. People aren’t being given much access yet to the fire area, but some have managed to build little shelters, in case their pets happen to come home. Thinking about all of those poor animals, looking for their people, out in the cold, makes me so, so sad. Amy Ludwig Vanderwater’s poem about building forts for pets was written with an entirely different intent and context, but even so, it  made me cry. 

The Bell Sisters

In the spirit of collabellation (according to Heidi Mordhorst) and/or tintinnabulation (Carol Varsalona, The Poetry Sisters and, I think, a few friends, are writing about bells this month:

• Michelle Kogan joins the Bell Sisters with a really clever rhyming list poem. 

• Bridget McGee not only has a really clever rhyming poem, but she has lots and lots of plans for 2022. I think her journals will make great gifts and will definitely be ordering a few!

• Janice Scully gives a history lesson, about the “salt bells” around Syracuse, New York. I love history wrapped in stories and think this would make a great picture book! Plus, she has an original poem, “Bells.” 

• Sara Lewis Holmes started her combination poem/history lesson/life lesson with a sculpture, The Robert A. Taft Memorial and Carillon. So much history! So much truth!

• Heidi Mordhorst wrote in a new-to-me genre, the “Blitz” poem. Plus, she has a not-to-be missed bonus offering, a “Blessing for the New Year” by Nadia Bolz-Weber. 

• Carol Varsalona enriched my vocabulary with a new word  “tintinnabulation.” I love her story about Santa ringing the bells on her Christmas tree as much as I love her bell poem.

• Laura Purdie Salas has an original poem, “Bell Song” published on top of a beautiful photograph. 

• Mary Lee went a different route than most of the bell poems. Her haibun (combination of prose/haiku is about family Christmas traditions, including a very special homemade ornament. 

• Over at Miss Rumphius Effect, Tricia also wrote her bell poem based on a story from her life. She wrote in another new to me genre, the Bob and Wheel. I'm definitely gathering some ideas for forms I might want to try this year!

• Tanita Davis brings the final (so far, anyway) bell poems. She includes a beautiful list poem, "Canticum Camapanarum" and then an original poem, where she connects bells and joy.

Endings and Beginnings

• Tabatha Yeatts’ offering, “Dispensable Other,” is more than a little sobering. I’m feeling more than a little discouraged by all that is “unlovely” about our world right now…

• Linda Mitchell is wrapping up her “Year of the Ox” poems, and will be moving on to a new word, “Star.” Can’t wait to see what this new series will hold. 

• Fellow Coloradoan, Linda Baie, is just finishing a collection of nature poems, one for each day of the year, that she read in 2021. She sharied an intriguing new collection, TIGER, TIGER, BURNING BRIGHT. This volume, collected by Fiona Waters, features a year’s worth of animal poems. I think I might need these books!

• At Reading to the Core, Catherine Flynn used a quote to write a golden shovel, perfect for the threshold of 2021/2022.

• Donnetta Norris also has a beautiful end of year golden shovel prayer-poem, "Calm."

• Irene is wrapping up her Artspeak year and promises to share her new theme next week. She has a lovely original poem, “Map to a New Year,” written in response to a Mary Cassatt drawing. 

• Ruth and her family ended their year with a visit to a new-to-me place, Cheekwood, in Nashville, Tennessee. Photographs from her visit include a sculpture called “Tree Poem.”

• Matt Esenwine is celebrating a very successful year and looking forward to the publication of his newest book, I AM TODAY, on January 25th. 

• Tim Kulp reflects on the word, “Enough,” which so many of us have said often this year. And then he gives us the gift of a very clever story poem!

• From her cozy cabin deep in the woods, Carol Labuzetta sends the gift of a holiday alphabetic, inspired by Maurice Sendak's class, ALLIGATORS ALL AROUND.

• I’m closing with Robyn Hood Black’s Rainier Maria Rilke quote. Her Instagram video is really fun, for those of us who are typewriter nerds. 

 "And now let us believe in a long year that is given to us, new, untouched, full of things that have never been, full of work that has never been done, full of tasks, claims, and demands; and let us see that we learn to take it without letting fall too much of what it has to bestow upon those who demand of it necessary, serious, and great things."

POETRY FRIDAY- OUR SACRED COMMUNITY

 

I haven't posted much recently. Ok, actually I haven't opened up my blog in six months. However, it looks like possibly I am going to have a little more time in my life, so maybe I will dabble in poetry again. Today, I'm stopping in to make you aware of a new poetry book published by students at North High School, which is the feeder school where many of my students attend.

I teach in North Denver. When I started working there, ten years ago, the neighborhood was like many others I had worked in before-- working class families crowded into tiny houses, some more than one hundred years. At least once a month, someone would get evicted and we would watch as the neighbors dug through possessions piled on the front lawn. For several years, we watched as one little house slid, inches at a time, off its foundation until finally it was condemned. The school where I taught was about 95% free and reduced lunch. 

That has all changed in the past decade. About twenty years ago, they built Coors Field, the stadium where the Colorado Rockies play, about a mile away across the highway from where I teach. The neighborhood around the stadium changed rapidly, from a land of factories and railroad tracks to upscale lofts and restaurants. LoDo/Rhino, as it was called, became a hipster neighborhood where everyone wanted to live. 

When the developers ran out of room, they went across the highway, into the neighborhood where my school is located, tore down all of the little houses, and built what I call saltine-cracker structures. I call them that because of their shape- tall and narrow, like a saltine-cracker box standing on one end. The roofs are flat, with patios or decks that are advertised as having a city view. Most of the structures are duplexes, which sell for upwards of $800,000 apiece. People can walk or bike across the 20th Street Overpass into downtown.

Sadly, the families who lived in that area, many of them for generations, can no longer afford housing in their own neighborhood. They've been pushed north ten miles to Federal Heights or east to Aurora. Enrollment at my school has dropped dramatically. I doubt that we will even be open in another five or so years-- the people who currently  live in the neighborhood don't, as a general rule, even have children. 

Recently, students at the local high school, created a poetry book around the gentrification of our neighborhood. Each student in a Latinx Leadership Class was asked to take a picture of the neighborhood and write a poem to go with it. Their work, our sacred community, is stunning.

You can read the whole book here.

It was also featured in The Denver Post last weekend. 

And in an article on the local news. 

Check it out. These kids have something to say. 

Buffy Silverman is hosting Poetry Friday today.