Once More--and Always--to the Lake

My heart leaves on the waves
The tide takes it out, out

My soul sinks into the sand
The water washes it out, out

Into the water
Onto the shore

Small sweet sea
Enmeshes me

I touch the moon and sun
Light lapping in the watery net

Where I’m caught, caught.
Never let me out.

Green Ghosts

A gate on the High Way

Land escapes
where green ghosts gather

My soul, we will go to them!
My soul, we will speak to them!

A road of days until I am all windows
No engine but the wind

Land escapes
where green ghosts gather

A gate on the High Way

Open

Horizontal Doors

Open with a press
Let them with a finger
Let them with a kiss

Against each other:
With

close
still
Close

Tender knocks, hard blushes
Wet-hinged red wood

Open with a word
Open with a kiss

What Teaching Is Like

Esme Raji Codell, a young teacher, aptly says about teaching: “They don’t tell you it’s like [...] going to hell or sleepwalking or being afraid, afraid as you were when you were small.”

9th-Graders' Wisdom

Said to me very earnestly by one of my 9th-graders:
"Ms. C, you're my role model. But I don't want to be like you."

I often use the word "nerd" as a verb--like when students leave, I charge them to, "Nerd! Nerd! Nerd!" So one of my 9th-graders one day adds,
"Go forth and nerd!"

When meeting with one of my struggling 9th-graders, asking what else I could do to help, he answered, "Teachers can only do so much." I wish he could hold a press conference and tell the nation that.

Phallen

The phoenix
fell.

Fell, fell
fall.

Her call
quelled.

Her fire
quenched.

Broken,
not burned.

Ash,
not embers.

Suffocated
by the air.

Doawn

Dawn down.

Dawn done.

Dawn gone.

Waiting is the Worst Hope

Waiting is the worst hope
Rain for the desert
Land for the shipwreck

Waiting is the worst hope
Comfort for the hurt
Peace for the shamed

Waiting is the worst hope
A dark eternity

A Part

there are hard things
things that slowly press the ribs apart
a part of the heavy universe

Space always inside

insides fleeing to the edges
edges where we began
bang Adam’s rib

upon Space

and speak softly
unto me

gone

with the Shadows
in the Corners
along the Edges
nearly nothing

a Line
a Point
a Beat

Silence
then

--

SurMounting the Horsetooth!

Suz, intrepid guide, lead the unsteady Ronnie safely up and then down the Horsetooth despite Ronnie's best efforts (she fell twice on the descent). Please see attached photographs; no replicas or photo editing were used in the taking and/or developing of these photographs; they are in fact authentic.

Ronnie feels much satisfaction at having summited the renowned Horsetooth and could not imagine a better hiking companion than Suz--excepting a horse to ride (but she was able to pet the Horsetooth). However, Ronnie is now absolutely certain that, while some might commune with nature on such expeditions, nature is most definitely trying to eat her. Suz did admire Ronnie's pace, which was ironically simply a manifestation of laziness: the faster one hikes the sooner one can be done. And that is how Ronnie feels about hiking: have done with it! Now that she has conquered this Everest of the foothills, she can.

Death Sentence

Pronounce it:
I’m Dead—
But living in that!
My absence will remain.
My words, silence.
My body, space.
Where once I was will speak
With out me
I will
I will

susp-end Death
Sentences in-term-inable

My breath battles the Blackness

My breath battles the Blackness.

Transparent pushes against oblivion.
Every dim heartbeat, a battle drum
Every lung a horn to call the air.

Eyes mustering the light
Only skin to fight and
Arm against the Night.

But the Void invades
This little mouth—already won—
Conquers my chest.

I am my own traitor;
Each breath loyal death.

How

How a hand that held, hits

How a kind mouth becomes a beast

How a humane face apes

How both Heaven and Hell

How

Night's Stair

On Night’s stair, I look back toward the Light.

Sent away
Without candle
Without her
The worst punishment

And all my apologies on every treacherous step.

"Timshel--thou mayest"

Might with might is missed.

All of Us

All of us eyes
All of us mouths
All of us skin, and hands, and bone, and ears, and blood

And each one to be loved
And love

And each one to be held
And hold

God endlessly echoed

Lent

I lent the Lord my sin
Suspended if not ended
Begin to make amends

But from this fast, fast to
My sins and fast hold
I do not always know

What is good and
What I should
O God

ashes rise too

The Goodbye

No more bodies.
Where is warm?

No more hands.
What do I hold?

No more eyes.
I wish mine weren’t.

No more ears
Without your voice.

I do not want the world
Without you.

It is all sadness
I know Death
If you are gone.

I want no joy
It is a lie
A pretty face
Without yours.

Living Iron

The sky scrapes on concrete, and
The seasons on skyscrapers.

The sun drowns daily in tired wastewater and
Strangers’ unmet eyes.

This wherehouse civilization, made of
Living Iron, all of us

lonely amidst multitudes.

Grafight

Raging, caging page
Blue bars binding
Red line rending

I shut the gray
Of the troubled sky
In you, on you
I dribble, I pour
Leaden reign.

Snow Day!

Snow day: a winter summer.

This Ache

Lungs grated on
Raw, raw air.
How can I breathe this?
I won’t! I won’t.

But my heart beats
Open my mouth.
Gasp only for more.
For more. For more.

We love this ache.

Forgiveness (Rancore)

A reluctant earth
Tilled purple black
With hard water—
I will not live in this garden.

This rotted apple
Against which I will not put my lips
I will not swallow its bruised brown flesh
So I bear a second mark

That is yours.

Map of Flesh

Where has it been?
It was mother’s and father’s perfect
And then—

What does it show?
An encasing color
Without me—

Where does it go?
Underneath and then
Gone.

Should I love it before?
What part?
The clean or the rot?

All of it?
But it is treacherous.
It is treacherous skin.

And it is mine.
Must I follow?

Jewel Skin

Buzzards above
the dead diamond

luscious white
delicious fight
living on Death

When I

When I am only crust
Only bread for Death
Almost dust—

Why would the world want me?
Why would I wait?

A long, last look—
Will I at least be able to take my soul?

Where will I go?
And what I loved
And what I was

Depend on Others

Depend on others--for disappointment.

Was the Girl

I was the girl whose beauty was what her eyes saw,
Not her Eyes.

I was the girl whose ember brows and lashes
Brightened those Fires.

I was the girl whose hair the air arranged
Without Care.

I was the girl whose skin the sun burned,
Not Shame.

I was the girl whose face shone never imagining
it might hide


I was the girl

who did not know

Beautiful Ugly Plain

would be her name.

Done

The day has begun
But Night will come
even though the sun
shines in the moon.

The dark will be soon
with no more room
for the smallest light.

All will be Quiet
The heart’s riot

Done.

Haiti's Help

Hate sees the Fall
lets the Earth Quake
takes God’s call

the Fall hates to see
lets the Earth Quake
takes God’s call.

to see the Fall’s Hate
Let Not the earth quake
Take God’s Call

Haiti, I am you, I am yours
Rise
Lift
Where are our hands?
Did we cast you down?

Haiti: our hearts
Rise
Lift
We try to reach you
Though you fall, Rise

Though you fall,
You Will Lift Us.

Conditional Love (for Hermosillo, Mexico - June 2009)

Parents trying to break the building’s body
Before it broke their children's.

Such love should be enough
To smother smoke and burn fire.

Devastation should not touch such perfect skin
Desperation never choke such little throats.

A warm womb gave them life
That one of bricks and steel stole.

Why We "Heart" Edward

Being the elitist bookworm that I am (and an English teacher with little time), my litmus test for whether to read or not to read a book is an author’s state of existence: if you’re dead but your work is still happily frolicking in the fields of academia, I’ll read you. Am I embarrassed, then, by my vampiric consuming of Stephanie Meyer’s Twilight novels? (She is very much alive, after all). Of course not! Dearest Edward is, after all, dead. And I can’t resist this mythical Mr. Darcy! Snob that I am, I’m still just a girl—who loves a good romance. Still, I must psychoanalyze the hysteria for this modern-day Mr. Rochester. Why do we "heart" Edward? The Twilight series is the phenomenon that it is for one reason: the romantic ideal she has created in our beloved Edward Cullen—a vampire who is somehow, simultaneously, the ideal gentleman. Meyer’s (only) brilliance was to perfectly marry in this being two of the most powerful and longed for—yet often conflicting—forces: love and lust.

Let us consider the vampire on a symbolic level. The vampire “lives” purely to consume; he is a slave to his thirst, to his desire for blood. Thus, were Desire to manifest itself physically, what more fitting form than the vampire. The vampire is the embodiment of pure desire; in fact, of extreme desire, i.e., lust. Indeed, a vampire’s desire is often referred to as “bloodlust.” Moreover, lust is so potent in this creature that it takes the very life of others to satiate its perpetual yearning (only momentarily, of course, for Desire is never satisfied—because then it wouldn’t be Desire; it would be Fulfillment, but I digress).

Now let’s consider the human female; in relationships, a woman has one fundamental worry: a man’s motives. Does he truly love me, or is it only bodily desire? Um, ladies, with the vampire, it is piercingly clear: he wants your body.

But in Edward’s case it is impossibly, but deliciously, both. What makes Edward so captivating to females—young and older alike—is that this creature, this vampire who is desire, lust itself manifested in physical form controls himself. Why? How does he control with superhuman strength his monster hunger? Because his all powerful lust for Bella is impossibly overwhelmed by his love for her. And yes his motivation is great—Bella would die if he indulged—but that fact is what makes his love so awesome and true: unlike the often testosteroney human male, the vampire’s uncontrollable instinct is to indulge, but Edward inexplicably manages it because his love for her is so vast. And that is the attraction for us humans: a love so profound, so true that he can’t help himself—only the other way. And that’s how all women want to be loved: maddeningly yet unconditionally. The perfect harmony of eros and agape—but with agape on top.

So that’s why we Twihards "heart" Edward Cullen—or at least why we elitist bibliophiles don’t stake the Twilight series.

Public Writing

Students were brainstorming about fears, and I was writing them on the board. One of them said "public speaking." I quickly wrote it on the board and turned to take more responses.

A student whispered, "Um, Ms. C? You forgot the 'l,'" as the rest of the class laughed.

Parapraxis, Perhaps

I'm usually overexcited about whatever I'm teaching, and I'll speak quickly, often combining words, etc.

Once, when trying to say "start," I said "shart," much to my students' delight. I laughed along with them, thinking it amusing, too. A few minutes later, I said, "Oh! It's funny because it sounds like 'fart.'"

"It's a word, Ms. C!" they assured me. "Haven't you seen [insert movie title I don't remember]?" Of course I hadn't; I told them I didn't watch that rubbish. But when everyone refused to tell me what it meant, I consulted the online urban dictionary.

"Oh!" I said. "It's a poop fart!" More hysterical laughter.

Exasperated

As a teacher (or person, really), little else is as disconcerting as when students laugh, and you're not sure why. Most recently, my students laughed when we were reviewing vocabulary words, and I said the words "exacerbated" and "exasperated." A student moved to quiet them, saying, "Okay! Moving on." But, of course, I couldn't; I continued to wonder what caused the entire class to laugh. It wasn't until I repeated the words to myself that I had an epiphany (you just have to think in vulgar terms when it comes to teenagers and what amuses them):

I asked, "Oh! Is it because it sounds like 'masturbated'?" Sure enough, it was.