Monday, September 22, 2014

Saddle Club

Saddle Club

Hard plastic horses with sinewy muscles and molded manes
and hard plastic horses with dark acrylic hair falling over one eye

and hard plastic unicorns with purple acrylic hair
posed with a knee bent unable to stand without your hand
to hold them where a saddle goes

and ceramic horses and unicorns plucked from the merry-go-round
to live on a gold pole on a block of wood

and pliable plastic ponies with teal acrylic hair
and glittery maple leaves stenciled onto their hindquarters
and their sweet gummy scent that invites you to chew on a hoof

It’s her birthday Someone get this girl a horse
For each year she survives
the bushel of ponies to huddling under her bed grows


Friday, September 19, 2014

On the Absurdity and Delightfulness of Classroom Detritus



I love finding what has been left from previous classes in my classroom. Out of context, it's so intriguing! It makes me think of this excellent Stanley Fish essay, "How to Recognize a Poem." It's also fun to overhear other teachers through adjoining walls, and try to glean what they're discussing from the audible snippets ("So.....mumble murmur mumble CHAIR.....mumble mumble FORMS mumble murmur" = a philosophy class).

Happy weekend, friends!

Thursday, September 18, 2014

Dessert for Dinner

Dessert for Dinner

I interpret the pink as orange

I call the marigolds magnolias since they sleep on the same shelf
in my mind anyway

Star of the daytime
is the new name for the sun
I look up and think star star star and this is my training

Little by little
I alter how my body absorbs time

or the information streaming into me

All of the windows have angles
And we fidget equally with the buttons on our shirts
and have pictures that slide into view over what we are looking at
like color gels

We can call them to us
or let them come to us
which is just a quieter way of calling

Wednesday, September 17, 2014

Cover Song

Cover Song

When I sing your song
my voice breaks where yours breaks

meaning the sudden splinter in your throat
that morning you recorded it

was contagious

I have replicated the small pain
your voice gave away while reaching
for the second verse

Oh the virus of longing
that flits from throat to throat

and evaporates

like the basic white butterfly outside
my car window that reveals itself

to be two white butterflies
who part

and equally carry their pallor
into the flowers

Tuesday, September 16, 2014

The Greater Good

The Greater Good

If there are windows let them be covered
and if they cannot stomach their veils
explain that sometimes we must do
that which we cannot stomach

The porch for instance has allowed itself
to be nailed to the front of the house

The tree will never be a giraffe
but can take inspiration from the neck
of a giraffe

I have seen gratitude
in the window smudges