NaPoWriMo

It’s National Poetry Writing Month! And you know what that means!

 

It means that school is almost out

But the kids are getting antsy.

As each day gets warmer outside

I have to try harder not to get angry.

 

It’s not that they’re so terrible

But they squirm and want to play.

No one wants to sit still for hours

When outside it’s such a nice day.

 

Sometimes I lose my temper

Though I try to control it a while.

But even when they drive me crazy

There’s always a few that make me smile.

Kiera 001
Alayah 001
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The Man with the Teardrop Tattoos

He had three teardrops outlined on his cheeks and five stars spread across his face like a constellation. He towered over me in a way that would be intimidating if I had met him anywhere else. But this was a classroom and he was a caring parent of one of my students who had come on his own initiative to see how his son was doing in my class. He was fresh out of prison and anxious to be a part of his kid’s life.

I called him on multiple occasions when his son was acting up in class. It’s not that his son is a “bad kid.” He’s just very talkative. And hyper. And goofy. And likes to play fight in class; and rap in class; and do anything except his work, really. So his dad came in twice to check on him and have a conversation about his behavior. As they say in school, “His dad don’t play.”

“I know he’s is smart,” He said one day in the cafeteria. “I was the same way. I had a full scholarship to college too–on academics, not sports. But my temper got me in trouble… I want my son to do better. I don’t want him to end up like I did.”

That stuck with me. In a school like this, there are so many parents who just don’t care and others who are just worn out. But this man was adamant about his son’s education. And poured out his pent-up hope on his future.

Shortly after that encounter, I was given the unfortunate news that he had died. I had a gut feeling that it was a violent death. The story ended up on the local news. He had been jumped by gang members and shot to death in a convenience store.

His son was out of school for 2 weeks. When he came back, he drew a teardrop on his cheek with a sharpie.

The Hidden Life of Love (A poem for Kierkegaard)

The valentine card I made for you
Was buried under twenty-two.
Some were bigger than my own;
I saw one with little rhinestones.
My valentine was much more plain.
I did not buy it and I forgot my name.
I drew it out on plain white paper,
And wrote your name in big block letters.
I wanted you to feel special,
And sharing the card made my heart revel.
But after you left the class with your pile,
I found my card on the floor tile.
My red and pink heart looked very sad
With the color bleeding out of the lines I had.
The corners were crumpled, and there was a foot mark
stamped on top of of my loving artwork.
I picked it up and brushed it clean,
And put it back where it would be seen.
On top of your desk, my heart now lays,
So you’ll see it again in three days.

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