Year of writing 92. 2/30

4/2/12

I will write poems every day, but I promise to keep letting people know about the awesomeness that is Isla & Miles as I go. Today's Isla quote, after reading our story -
"Daddy, this is a crazy story. Would you ride on a cockroach?  I would not ride on a cockroach.  Not even if it had a cockroach carseat."


Back to the poetry. It was my last day teaching in the classroom today.  I wrote everybody letters, as I realize now, it was mostly to make myself feel better.  Most kids were very stoic and understanding.  That wasn't real.  This was.
2/30

"It is painful as well, because it means turning yourself inside out, giving up your own sense of who you are, and being willing to see yourself in the unflattering light of another's angry gaze." - Lisa Delpit from "The Silenced Dialogue"

Her eyes were red puddles.
She sat unblinking, hunched
over the paper like a streetlight
in the rain, her tears unfettered.

I kneeled by her desk
hushed tones confident that
my words in this letter had uncorked
her emotion, I was the cool.
I understood.

"It's not enough"
she coughed at the smooth
white sheet in her hand.
"your sorry is not enough."

Trust is broken
by people who know how.
She was still learning how
to spell the word
as I handed her my farewell
full of sentiment and guarantees.

"It's not enough."
I know that now, my bruised attempt
to bandage a wound older than her
deserved nothing less.

I watched her leave,
braids swinging softly.
The click of the latch
sounded like dissolution;
sounded like breaking.