Beneath the rock slide
I lie gasping.
So many stones squashing
the life out of me,
Covid, isolation, tension,
anxiety in others,
illness, recent deaths,
responsibility, each a
pebble piled
until breathing seems
an impossibility.
Where is the safety crew
to clear the debris
so we can be well,
be free of despair,
be who we used
to be.
poem- victory September 22, 2019
Small victory
multiplied.
Big tasks
divided
into
parts
so
small–
how could I not succeed?
Deadlines
focus goals.
Day by day,
Chew each bite thoroughly.
Done!
Launch hope with a key stroke.
Completion is victory enough,
but still…
Fingers crossed.
poem-you did it May 15, 2019
for Tai
.
You’ve always been a mountain climber.
Sometimes climbing means tumbling to the valleys.
Sometimes it means diving into sparkling mountain lakes
and becoming entangled with weeds
that pull you down.
Who knew you could drown while climbing?
You’ve always been a mountain climber.
Sometimes every part of you aches for a break,
longs for the plateau.
Rest.
But you keep climbing,
because sometimes, when you stand on the summit,
see the world laid out before you
a carpet of overcoming,
you see all the opportunity;
you see you can fly.
poem- small talk May 13, 2019
Sunny cashier:
“Did you have a good Mother’s Day yesterday?”
Contemplation.
Truth.
“No.”
Pause.
Longer pause.
Sunny voice: “I left the kids with the husband and
spent a lovely time on the lake. It was just what I needed!”
“Ah. Nice.
For some of us, it’s a time of grief.”
(Honesty is the best policy).
Still cheery: “Oh. Yes!”
Oh, dear.
Some of us, once safely through a horrid day,
are tripped by reminders of our private grief
in chirpy questions at a till.
When you tear open wounds,
what did you mother teach you to do?
poem-choose honey, hon March 9, 2017
You think
if you swell your chest
and shout with a voice that covers others’
if you argue
every word from the teacher’s mouth
that somehow you can win.
Oh, but hon,
who really has the power?
Consequences grow with your defiance
and you’re the one who loses.
The class laughs,
but it’s at you, not with you.
Biliousness and lies do not lead to success.
Trust me,
honey catches the flies
of achievement and respect.
poem-new day again November 20, 2015
Every day you approach the computer
“What are we doing again?” I show you where to see the assignment. I review the expectations, the objectives, the criteria.
“Oh! Okay! I get it!” you say, and set to work.
The next day, we do it again.
Today you stare at me with blank, hollow eyes.
“I don’t get it,” you say.
Everyone else is busily working. You’ve been absent. When you come, you have to study for a test in another subject. Or see the counselor. Or help your friend. In fourteen hours of research time, you’ve been here for eight. Do you have anything to show for the time? Others have the list of the websites they consulted, pages of notes, excitement over how they’ll turn research into a presentation next week.
You have confusion.
The same confusion from the first day. Repeated again. Some days we can help you. Some days you are confident and productive.
But nothing stays in your memory more than an hour.
Other days you are sullen and oppositional, because you’re sure you’ve never seen this before, and you’re angry about it.
“This is stupid.”
What more can I do? I ask. They tell me your parents refuse to have you tested. They don’t want you to have a label, so we don’t know if this is a cognitive impairment, learning disability, or the results of drug use or a sports injury. A label comes with funding to give you the additional support you plainly need. Keep repeating expectations. Keep explaining the criteria. I agree. This is stupid.
The course is almost over and you return each day to week one, living a personal Groundhog Day loop,
and no one knows how to pull you out.