A belated (if there ever could be such a thing) Teacher Appreciation gift given to me today by one of my most eccentric 6th graders.
One of my favorite poems thus far:
“Secrets” is a daily word
Yet does not exist –
Muffled – it remits surmise –
Murmured – it has ceased –
Dungeoned in the Human Breast
Doubtless secrets lie –
But that Grate inviolate –
Goes nor comes away
Nothing with a Tongue or Ear –
Secrets staped there
Will emerge but once – and dumb –
To the Sepulchre –
That this student could appreciate great works such as this and create her own thoughtful writings makes my heart optimistic!
No longer mine – can’t carry you anymore,
you’ll stumble, fall and eventually – soar,
As your path widens and grows long,
I realize how I was so very wrong
You take your steps while I watch
Your self-determination can be dreadful
yet entirely convincing
It’s fast becoming apparent
that your flubs and whims aren’t errant
You don’t own reasons for my heart breakin’
for I never “owned” you, in that, I was mistaken
I gave my 5th graders a writing assignment today. I already knew what they’d say after our poetry lesson and the directions. “I don’t know what to write about!”
Literally, I had to turn away ten students from my desk. They are so frightened to face a blank piece of paper and not know “the answer” immediately. They wanted me to tell them what to write.
I found myself saying, “It’s OK to sit in anguish.” I was joking, of course, what I meant was,
“It’s OK to sit without knowing.”
You don’t know what will happen tomorrow.. You don’t know what you’ll be when you grown up. You don’t know who you will marry (or if you will)!
So sit with not knowing. Be quiet and still. Let it come to you.
When I am a woman of old,
I shall never do what I’m told.
I’ll walk in puddles of deep muck,
and never give a flying…care.
To the ice cream parlor I’ll shuffle,
and wolf down a chocolate truffle.
For hours and hours I’ll sit,
and never, ever give a…care.
With my sister, we will hang glide,
and bi-monthly, we’ll scuba dive.
I might be on a crime program,
but I really won’t give a…care.
I’ve walked this trail so many times,
in seasons of both joy and grief;
matters bloom which suspend belief,
now I’m mezzo from birth to death.
This term, I’ve come to realize,
the purpose of one’s life lodges
not in popular mirages,
but undulates upon each breath.