Congratulations on 15 days of celebrating poetry. Please share a highlight from your week of reading, writing, thinking about poetry here. Ethical ELA will share it in the next newsletter to which you can subscribe here.
Our Host
Angie Braaten has been teaching English Language Arts since 2013. She taught sophomores and juniors in Slidell, Louisiana for 5 years and then moved to Dhaka, Bangladesh in 2018 and taught 6th-10th grade for two years and now teaches 6th-8th grade. She is also the Service Coordinator at her school. This summer, she will continue her overseas career in Kuwait teaching 7th grade ELA. She is grateful for this community of writers and to have monthly opportunities to write, read, and share poetry.
Inspiration: The Power of a Question
Today’s inspiration comes from a specific question a student asked me years ago, like I’m sure many (if not all) of you have experienced. I’d like you all to think about a question that has been meaningful in your life for whatever reason. This can be a question that you asked or that was asked of you. It can even be a question that you read in a book. You could think about a lesson you have learned from this question, perhaps. The options are endless.
Syrian author Nizar Qabbani’s powerful poem “A Lesson in Drawing” is about a son’s simple questions that bring back intense wartime feelings and memories for the father. Yes, Qabbani’s poem is much different than my own. I hope this does not overwhelm you. Instead, I hope the contrast gives you different ways of thinking about where you will take your own poem.
Process
The prompt today explores how questions can be powerful, of any kind or origin. Pick one of the following options:
- Make a list of important questions other people asked you that made you really think or even learn something. Then, make a list of feelings or thoughts you had about one or more of those questions. Turn it into a poem!
- Make a list of important questions that you have asked someone else. Then, make a list of feelings or thoughts you or the other person had about the question you asked. Turn it into a poem!
- Make a list of important questions that you have read in a text or heard in other people’s conversations or anywhere. Any questions that drew your attention. Make a list of feelings or thoughts you had about any of these questions. Turn it into a poem!
- Write a poem about whatever your heart desires today.
Form
Since the subject of the poem revolves around a question, adding in some dialogue would work well, like both model poems do. Qabbani starts each stanza off with the same phrase, you can do this as well.
You could write a three stanza poem:
Stanza 1: Question
Stanza 2: Answer
Stanza 3: Reflection
*I’d like to preface my poem with the fact that many of my students and colleagues in Louisiana thought I was mixed (Hispanic and Black). And I’m sorry my poem ended up a bit long.
When A Student Asks If I Consider Myself Black
Possible and imagined responses:
“I don’t know what I am.”
Years of not quite looking like one of my races,
Years of not feeling a connection to the other.
“I don’t know what I am.”
Who really knows what they are?
Do you know what you are?
I remember the question.
The real answer came much later.
I am Black music
Masterful hip hop
With African roots.
Didn’t we all originate there?
Mesmerized by beats and raps
Swift and versatile
God-like rhymes
Blowin’ my mind
Something I’ll never be able to do
But I’ll always appreciate
Pure talent, like you.
White language
English teacher
The only won I NO.
Plough, Rough
Through, Drought
Cough, Dough
Did ya say ‘em write?
Did ya right ‘em rite?
Asian food
From thick masalas to
fresh, green herbs,
spiced broth,
slippery noodles,
swimming in the warmth of
Southeast Asian locations.
Native American beliefs
Everything is connected.
Nature is mother,
I am you,
You are me,
We are all her.
When will we learn?
Mexican memories
Thoughts of Grandma,
Cherished with chili powder.
Crossing borders for fun
With rights and free will.
Bangladeshi color
A tanned brown but also
All the colors of the palette.
Mix them together
what do you get?
Every place I’ve been
And every place I’ll be.
An ancestry test is null and void.
Because of you,
I now understand me.
Happy writing!
Your Turn
Now, scroll to the comment section below to write your own poem. (This is a public space, so you may use only your first name or initials depending on your privacy preferences.) Not ready? That’s okay. Read the poems already posted for more inspiration. Ponder your own throughout the day. Return later. And, if the prompt does not work for you, that is fine. All writing is welcome. Just write something. Also, please be sure to respond to at least three writers. Oh, and a note about drafting: Since we are writing in short bursts, we all understand (and even welcome) the typos and partial poems that remind us we are human and that writing is always becoming. If you’d like to invite other teachers to write with us, tell them to subscribe.
Anger
Why must we let it manifest our minds?
The crucial thought of being possessed by negative energy seems to occupy my time
as if I never had a positive mind, but this cant fine
for I am more than a black space to which no one can define
filling myself up with the words that ticked me off
that play repeadly in my mind over and over
why must I let it manifest my mind as if I’m not define?
it allows me to get temporary feelings of frustration and bitterness out of my mind
so I can realse the energy I no longer define as mine
and then I feel fine and sip a glass of wine
Letting anger manifest the mind is still something I cant define
let it marinate because you don’t have the time
or release the negative energy to relax your mind
this is why I always say
why must we let anger manifest our minds?
Nice bookend with the question. Ahh! It’s hard to let go sometimes. This is a powerful line: “for I am more than a black space to which no one can define”! Sounds like you possibly have a good start for today’s prompt of bringing to life characteristics also! Thanks for writing, Tarshana. Love your name.
I would like to thank everyone for writing today. This was my first time hosting, and I’m honored. People telling me that they’ve been inspired and enjoyed my prompt and poem means very much. I enjoyed reading and seeing where everyone took the prompt. I continue to be inspired and very grateful for this community. Looking forward to the next half of the month <3
The question “Have you made a decision?” gives me anxiety and your poem beautifully expresses the tension you felt when you gave your answer. It’s hard sometimes.
I love this entire poem but especially “it’s weird how years become libraries” and
“But I know wings and flight:
the beauty of arriving
and the sadness of departure.”
You have spoken to my soul here. I have a departure coming up in a few weeks and it will be so, so sad.
I love the hope and understanding in your last 5 lines also. Beautiful, Bryan. Thank you.
Thank you for this awesome prompt, Angie. I loved your poem. I have a friend (who took the class I write about in my poem with me) in Dhaka right now teaching at AISD!
Utah:
The lecture hall was big, but it was my senior year
and class size didn’t phase me like it used to.
In fact, I was hardly prepared for this class.
I often showed up late, coffee in hand.
And I used the back half of a notebook I began the semester before.
Notes from The Teaching of Writing and Schools in American Society
Would intermingle — how silly of me to think they were ever separate.
Today, however, I meandered in and took my not-actually-assigned seat in the back
Just in time for class to begin.
“Have any of you been to Salt Lake City?” Professor Greg asked
A couple of people raised their hands, but the majority of our class hadn’t been there. I definitely hadn’t been there; I had hardly left the state of Iowa in my 21 years.
I had no idea where he was going with this, so I leaned in and opened up to the back of my notebook.
I scribbled quick notes, planted quick seeds–reminding me to water them later
“Racial dot map”
“Zip Codes”
“Red Lining”
“Property value”
“School funding”
As I nurtured them later, I couldn’t believe
that I was just discovering
this separation in an unfair education system
right before I was to join it.
I love how in a small vignette from a class you took perfectly illustrates the divide between what we’re taught in college and what is actually going on in schools. Its hard to knows what is really happening unless you’re in it. I really like the conversational tone, too.
Rachelle,
I love learning about you as a student. I can actually picture a few of our students who resemble bits of the poem.
Oh, WHAT?!?! Such a small world. I am at International School Dhaka.
I continue to be amazed where people take this prompt. The question they focus on, and the questions and “discovering” that arise from a single question, from a single memory of a day in class:
Thank you for sharing, Rachelle.
Nice, Rachelle. I love the telling note here…
Not just in your notebook, now your writing and teaching writing intermingle with American society’s school system. beautifully here in your poem.
I’m glad you learned about this injustice, and now you are speaking against it in your work.
Bones
not Why, but why not?
my thin bones
(pale bones
at my core)
push against
barbed wire cages
stone unclimbable walls
the fences of reason
surged my fury
my voice
my bones
The “why not” question is very Allison Berryhill of you. I really like the way you use parentheticals — like an aside to the reader, a secret between the two of us.
I have always loved the question “Why not”. I say it a lot. And I love it here too. Your imagery, I can FEEL the “thin bones” pushing “barbed wire cages” and “stone unclimbable walls” – SO powerful. Thank you, Allison.
Allison,
These two lines speak such truth. I think of the fences of reason that hold me back, and how they surge my fury sometimes. Wow. That speaks to me today.
Denise, this is magnificent. You start with such a great question that we don’t ask enough. Then, you use perfectly appropriate images to add depth and meaning.
Allison, I instantly heard my therapist from 7 years ago. I walked in there and asked her, “Why me?” in regards to my failing marriage and all my other issues. She said with a straight face, “Why not you?” Many sessions later, I realized the whiny-ness of why me. Your poem is deep, down to the bones, deep.
Glad I read it even though it’s a day later.
Last 4 lines speak your power.
?
Angie, I am stunned by the layers of your poem. Your language choices are musical. Your message is powerful. Thank you.
What are we doing today?
Are we doing anything today?
Why are we doing this?
Look at the board.
Do we ever NOT do anything?
Because this is what we do.
A cardboard box
Painted neon green:
“Deposit all questions here,
Make three wishes,
Spin in place twice.
The classroom genie
Will get back with you.”
Your questions! If I had a dollar for each time I’ve heard them, well, you know how that goes! I may steal your idea of the classroom genie. Love it!
“Are we doing anything today?” HAHA. Yes that classroom genie sounds cool. I love “Make three wishes,/Spin in place twice.”
Ugh the “Are we doing anything today” or “did I miss anything?” questions!! Thanks for this response. I love the imagery in the last stanza.
I love, love, love this prompt, and I cannot wait to play with it more in my journal. Thank you!
Third Trimester
How are you feeling?
Wow, you’re going to pop soon, huh?
I’m fine, thanks!
Yep, about seven more weeks!
I’m not sure they truly
want to hear that
each step on my right foot
sends zinging pain up my leg
to my tailbone, making me
crumble, bent knee, almost to the floor
I’m not sure they truly
want to hear that
this same body that didn’t have
many complaints the first time round
feels seven weeks equates to
an e t e r n i t y
I’m not sure they truly
want to hear that
guilt wraps itself around me
when my toddler asks to be
wrapped into my arms, legs
hanging over his unborn brother’s home
I’m not sure they truly
want to hear that
the cost of daycare for two
the cautious waddling to sit on the toilet
the painfully uninvited gas thanks to relaxin
the anticipation of a new life dynamic
the virus plaguing our nation
the concern about toddler’s adjustment
the guilt of being a working mom
keep
my
head
spinning
I’m most attracted to the word “truly” in your repetition of “I’m not sure they truly.” I wish we did speak more truly with others. If we each knew the other’s story, I think we would all be better people.
I also like the way your “eternity” stretches out.
Ohh, Britt. I’ve never been pregnant but I can feel what you are going through, through your words. I appreciate how you move between physical pain and emotional worry. And this reminds me about how we all sometimes say “we’re fine” when we ARE NOT. I like your creative decisions in expanding “e t e r n i t y” and breaking up “keep / my / head / spinning”.
Congratulations and I hope you get some relief 🙂
This poem has bits and pieces of a longer poem I’m trying to find inside me. Eventually, it’ll come out.
Questions You Don’t Ask
I never knew I’d hate this question
As much as I hate coleslaw
“Are you dating?”
I hate that question
More than flowered sheets
When I was married
No one asked, “Are you happy?”
They assumed a diamond
And two kids in a home
Were sweet like watermelon in July
No one wondered
If I slept well at night
Or had enough money
For lights, shoes, and gifts
Or if his love was bold like wine
Don’t ask me if I’m dating
Ask me if I’m well
Ask me how I found my joy
Ask me why I am peaceful
Ask me, I’m waiting.
© Stacey L. Joy, April 16, 2021
The comparison of the dreaded question “Are you dating” to your hatred of flowered sheets gives personality to the speaker of your poem. Such a unique detail is just perfect.
Stacey —- Bam! Once again that strong voice is delivering the edge in this poem. The wrong question sure carries a nasty lack of empathy. The power lines are “the assumed a diamond/and two kids…”. It is just so true. It takes me back to those mask poems from a few days ago. And I loved the “I’m waiting” in the last line. It’s almost like daring others to truly see and listen. Questions You Don’t Ask… fine title!! Are you well? I’m thinking, you bet! And a joyful woman! Hugs, Susie
Stacey, your poems always give us so much to think about. I’m going to be sure to ask my friends if they are happy. What a great way to start a conversation. I live the flowered sheets and cole slaw references. Fabulous!
Wow, Stacey! This really spoke to me today. Your comparisons are vivid, delicious, and maybe not so tasty (coleslaw). That made it really visceral to me. I like how your stanzas dive deeper into the assumptions people make. Thank you for sharing this piece today.
Oh man, I feel this in my bones. Its like you snuck into my brain. Yes, yes, yes, to everything in this. I’m glad we’ve both found peace.
AHH! When I read the title, I thought it was going to be about questions people shouldn’t ask. This is SO good. I’m glad to have actually never been asked that question (maybe once or twice) despite being single pretty much my entire life. I would HATE it like flowered sheets as well HAHA!
I love the powerful command here:
Thanks, Stacey JOY!
My life is so boring
I savor the last sips of my morning tea
I teach all day, hoping the remote kids will show up
I watch the woodpecker in my yard chase the sparrows away from the premium suet
I wonder if my son’s wedding will be all that he hopes for\I snuggle with my dog and read
I worry that my newborn grandson isn’t gaining enough weight
I imagine my eldest grandson wearing a diaper at 14 because he doesn’t want to potty train
I thank God my husband works so hard to provide vaccine ingredients to manufacturers
I ask myself why I felt the need to buy a lake home, a real fixer-upper, in the middle of a pandemic
I bake bread like a Parisian and drink wine as if I were a camel in the desert
I contemplate the possible joys of retirement
I sleep easily, because the exhaustion breathes through my bones
My life is so boring
Whatever should I write about?
Yay, MO!!!! I think this may be one of my top faves in your collection! It’s raw, real, and so doggone funny.
What a fun life you’re living! I’d never want to trade it if I were you. Enjoy! Sip, sip, sipping right alongside you!
?Cheers!
Your life sounds delicious! Cheers to your son and to your grandson and to you! 🙂
Awwww Mo, that’s not a boring life!!! 🙂 I wish I could add humor in my poems like you and blend it so well with serious subjects. Like this back to back:
“ When a student asks: But is it really a hate crime if…?”
It’s a fair question.
Yet, my reflexive response is:
Is he transphobic?
Take a beat. Tread lightly. Pause:
Do I have the words to respond?
A clumsy attempt to summarize last summer’s
scant news stories. My best guess at
the legal context. All I can offer are
hypotheses as I am out of my league.
Damn, that’s a good question.
We may never know his motivation.
But, that in and of itself,
in a state without a hate-crimes law,
speaks to a legal system that shares
common ideology with her murderer.
No question.
Laura, it sounds like you have some really great conversations in your class. I appreciate your reminders to take a beat, tread lightly, and pause. The ending of your poem is so sad to me.
Laura, this is a timely question and thoughtful response. Killing is a crime for whatever reason. (Yes, I’m a conscious objector and if I were conscripted, I would resist serving if I were expected to kill. As queasy as I am, I’d like to think I’d remain as serve in medical corps.)
Wow, tough stuff here. This is the truth here:
and your end with “No question”.
Thanks for sharing a glimpse of the honesty and discussion that happens in the classroom.
Will You Marry Me?
Our hearts were beating out of our chests—
it’s hard to say whose was pounding harder.
You took a knee
and looking up at me
with those almond shaped eyes
offered five simple words
that we knew were important
but looking back now I realize
they hardly began to convey
the question you were really
trying to ask
which might have sounded
something more like:
Will you open a joint bank account with me?
Will you be the one to pop the zits
on my back when I can’t reach them?
Will you remember to pack
all the things I forget when we travel?
Will you come to my family’s reunions?
Will you kiss me every night
and wake up beside me each morning
for the rest of your life?
Will you be patient with me
when I inevitably make mistakes?
Will you let your body open up
and wear out, to carry our children?
Will you let me be the one to hold you
and soak up your tears?
Will you trust me?
Rachel, wow, your poem is incredibly beautiful. Your questions are so important when deciding to commit to another for a lifetime! Thank you!
Rachel, I love the way you capture the relationship between weight of the moment with the weight of the reality that is not yet known. And all the while telling your story. Thanks for sharing!
This poem is very intimate and personal. It is so honest about marriage and what we share with each other. It takes a lot of work and tears. I love the last line of “will you let me be the one to hold you and soak up your tears?” This makes marriage worth while and very human.
Maybe because I’m oh so pregnant, but TEARS. Thank you for writing this sacred and beautiful piece. Yes and yes. I also laughed at the “zits on my back.” Too relatable haha!
Well, I’m not pregnant, Britt, but still TEARS. Rachel, this is an amazing poem – question title and then a bunch of different (arguably more important) meanings of the original question. These made me tear up:
Wonderful.
Angie, thank you for this prompt and your wonderful mentor poem. I really love the idea of understanding ourselves (only truly) through other people: “Because of you / I now understand me.”
________________________________
Somewhere I read
or I heard (or maybe
I’m just making
it up) that a
teacher makes
more decisions
in a day than an
air traffic controller.
Now, ignoring it’s
obvious fallacious
nature, this statement
has, perhaps, an element
of truth to it.
I find myself
loaded down with
decisions and questions
(weighed down, in fact)
every day.
At the moment,
however, this specific
moment, this here
and now, no question
is more urgent than —
now, it’s not like
yesterday when we
were sitting on the couch
watching TV and
I couldn’t remember
that actor’s name,
you know the one,
he was in that movie —
the one we liked —
with that woman,
don’t tell me,
there was that scene
at the end —
anyway that’s
not the question,
the most important
question right
now is
if the house of this poem
is full of many rooms,
I just have to ask,
why did I walk into
this one?
Scott, your poem, I think, reveals the wear a teacher undertakes every day so that by the time they are home in front of a tv, it’s hard to remember specific details…like why did I walk into this room? Love the way your poem begins and ends, a journey in itself! Thanks for the smile as I read this today!
Scott, I really love the journey you take us on in your poem and appreciate the humor! I don’t know how many decisions an air traffic controller makes but I’d say we rival them—I’m continuously amazed by the number of questions answered (or attempted anyway) and decisions made in a single day or a single 90-minute block. Those last two stanzas though are savory—it’s like your poem turns into a mobius strip.
Scott,
You are living my life. Thank you for making me feel not so alone in the crazy
But yes! Is it fatigue or have I been saying “thing” and “you know” way more? Earlier today I was trying to alert my husband that our toddler was picking up the kitchen sink mat from the floor and what came out instead was, “oohhh no, he’s picking up the thing at the thing, do something!” HA!
I, too, feel so weighed down by the moment to moment decisions I must make in the classroom. Thank you for sharing this poem!
Scott. Your writing is like no other. I love, love the humorous sidetrack of asking questions about movies and actors. The “urgency” of stanza 4, and being in the present moment, is very important, despite that sidetrack. and then your end which makes me think about how these words apply to any situation, ever, not just choosing what to write about. Like why am I here right now? I love how you lead up to the question.
BTW I think a lot about your alternate names for Pear Deck code poem you wrote a while ago such a good one haha.
All I have this day, dear friends –
Ours
Answer:
hiking together
just us two
in hemlocks and moss
with a creek at our side
it was so quiet
it was so wondrous
it was so ours
Question:
What makes a great day?
Maureen,
I enjoyed your poem about a great day. I would love a great day like this soon.
So simple and beautiful! To me, the simplicity of this poem just highlights the feeling of what it must have been like, just you two spending a day together in nature. “Quiet…wondrous…ours.”
Maureen, love how you’ve answered your own question here. A nature walk sounds wonderful!
Beautiful and tender and intimate. I loved imagining this!
Maureen,
I love that you reversed the question/answer order. Your day sounds perfect, much like my favorite days: “just us two.”
Yes! Just the reverse of answer and question is so creative! I love the way you have worded “it was so ours”.
Thanks for sharing, Maureen. Sounds like such a lovely day.
Angie, your beautiful poem ends so wonderfully. Love it. Thanks for your time today and providing this challenging prompt.
Gray Clouds on a Spring Day
If Hope is the thing with feathers
how do you find the thrust; the lift
to fly into clouds full of tears?
“Fight the good fight; seek the light,”
whispered the clouds
beginning to clear
Broken hearts and wings
long to fly
unfettered and free
Barb Edler
16 April 2021
Barb- The grieving in this poem, the longing to fly freely is very real. Each line has a sense of wanting to get to the other side of “broken hearts and wings”… so beautifully said. I love the image of feathers and lift and clouds of tears.. sensual and hopeful yet a hard hard journey. Sending more feathers and lift. Hugs, Susie
This is absolutely beautiful, Barb! I love “Clouds of tears” and then “the clouds beginning to clear” and coming back to the idea of hope at the end with”long to fly/unfettered and free”. I really like how the clouds are the ones who give the answer as well. Wonderful!
In His Image
Why do you create? I was asked.
This burning desire that compels me each day.
A drive to blaze trails or a need to touch souls?
Or could be my ego that needs to get wowed.
It’s certainly no way to get rich.
As a step, God created my beginning.
It’s how I was meant to be.
God, creator and inventor of monkeys,
elephants, and snakes
and finally making me.
In the image of the Creator
a higher cognitive function
of imagination and original ideas
with ways to pay attention
and unleashing my anxious mind.
When you view my creation, I feel less alone.
See that spark in your eye! Shared appreciation.
An expression of truth, an understanding
or maybe surprise that can’t be done otherwise
when making surroundings more beautiful.
Susan, thank you for acknowledging the appreciation for artists and artistry. I understand that burning desire, and even the wonder if it’s to satisfy ego. That symbiotic relationship between artist and viewer brings about that understanding.
Thanks for sharing your inspiration. Many of us have been cheered by the intriguing art you produce.
Anna, I am so thankful for your support of my art making and for your inspiration to me in writing.
Love the question that you have focused on and I was moved most by this answer:
It’s worded beautifully, Susan. Thank you for creating!
Beautiful journey through all of what is YOU, Angie! Your poem flows like a Where I’m From but has a flair and warmth uniquely its own. I love the ending.
Qabbani’s poem left me wondering if in 20+ years, many will still have trauma showing up from our year/s in isolation and sickness. Wow, so sad.
I’m excited to write, hoping to get to it this evening. Today, this week, all of it have whopped me upside the head! I’ll go for a walk and clear my thoughts.
Thank you for your prompt and mentor poems! ❤️
Thank you, Stacey! *smiling*
Yes, Qabbani’s poem is tough.
Hi Angie,
Great prompt for today. I struggled most of the day asking myself questions, or thinking about those questions that affect me the most. Here’s what I came up with.
Questioning
On a Sunday morning
I ask how
she looks into
my eyes (daggers)
I ask what
she sees
(who she sees)
I ask where
do her memories blanket
her moment
I ask who
is a better man
than I
could ever be
I ask when
do all good things end
at the moment of collapse
and the end of my world
she answers me
with the slightest of smiles
her hand reaching for mine
I feel my heart
Beat…beat…beat
Ooh my goodness! Your ending really got my heart to beat. At first I was grabbed by the eyes as daggers and thought the ending would be full of sorrow but no…
I was collapsed as well until I saw that hand and smile. Great poem.
Eric, it really is remarkable what a touch if the hand can say that words can never convey.
Eric, what a delicious poem. Your questions are accessible, and I love how you end this! Sweet!
AHH!! So many deep questions here:
and an even deeper answer of a “smile” and “hand reaching” that allows your heart to beat.
I love the questions, the sense of despair and the moment of comfort at the end. Thank you, Eric.
Thank you Angie, for todays prompt. I knew what I was going to write about right away. Thank you Rachelle for inviting me to write with you and Cara. I can’t believe I’m now one poem over my top goal for the month. I guess I really did have at least 16 poems in me. 🙂 🙂
What is in a Name?
Why does your older sister and your mom have the same last name and you don’t?
At six it is a tough question to answer, one I really couldn’t answer
As I didn’t even understand
Shoving down sadness and shame, I try ignore it
I really just want to shout shut up, shut up, shut up
Instead I walk away, knowing it will come up again
We move, I’ll be going to a new school
Begging my mom to let me use her last name
Trying to explain it to me as I’m a bit older know
She finally gives in, thinking this will be better for me
Yes, no more stupid questions about my name
Stupid new school sent him my report card
Now he knows I’m not use his name at school
Frustration set in, when the court agrees with him and states I can’t use Mom’s name
Embarrassed to be going back to school with the “old” new last name
Questions start again, even more questions this time
I want to scream that a name isn’t what makes you family but would they even listen
Would they care that Mom is the family
Freedom from the one who hurt me, who’s name I was forced to use
Both happy and sad
Lost half the people in my life that should have been my family NOT matter what
New school again, new life without my other family
Mom can I use your last name now???
Sorry, the court order is still valid, I don’t want “his” last name
Unshackling myself from that last name, I called Grandma
May I please use your last name?
I would like it if you used my maiden name Lillie
YES, I love it
Beautiful flower I made it my own
I still got questions, but I was older, I knew what to say
No, Jason Lily is not my brother
Having the same last name doesn’t make us a family LOVE does
I chose Lillie
I loved it as my last name even if I only used it for eight short years
DeAnna, you show your frustration with all the questions, the desire to not share a name with someone who has hurt you so badly. I love how your problem is solved. Love your honest voice throughout this poem. Yes, Lillie is a beautiful name and family is much more than a name.
DeAnna,
Names are so fraught with history and you express that so well here. I think, perhaps, kids now get less flack for differing names than you and I did in our youth, but maybe that’s wishful thinking on my part, too. You really capture the frustration and complications of your situation well. Poetry is such a wonderful way to process–thank you for inviting us in today.
If the Bard asked would a rose by any other name smell as sweet,, would you answer ”No! But a Lily would.”
I’m be silly, but not being insensitive to the significance of family names…moving from school to school or dealing with dumb question. I’ve been there and respect the courage you have to write about it.
Wow, DeAnna! Thank you for sharing your experience with your last name with us. So crazy about the court order and not being allowed to change it. I didn’t know that was a thing. I’m sorry for what you had to go through over something that is supposed to be YOU, and I’m glad you found something you loved. This is so heartfelt:
Thanks for staying with us. Congratulations on the 16th poem. Keep writing!
DeAnna, I can HEAR your voice through this poem and I really like that. The last name Lillie almost sounds like it was made to be in a poem 🙂 I love the motif that plays throughout, that LOVE is what makes a family, family.
“I want to scream that a name isn’t what makes you family but would they even listen”
Thanks for sharing your story today. I like being able to know you more through your poetry.
Angie, this is a fabulous prompt. I knew immediately the question I’d use in my poem. Fantastic mentor poems, too.
Lonely
Aren’t you lonely?
The girl once named
Now anonymous, asked.
I paused, considered the
Question, planned my response.
Pound said it best:
A crowd faces
Ghosts moving through
Stations, stages,
All bracts on a
Symbolic budding bough,
Branches on life’s tree.
Someday she’ll understand,
A bad marriage can be
a very lonely place.
—Glenda Funk
*Not referencing Ken here. He’s my second husband.
Glenda,
I enjoyed your poem.
Sadly I’ve had a friend or two in this situation in the past. Glad you seem to be in a better marriage now.
Glenda — This surely is truth on a platter! “Bad marriage”… egads, surely I have walked that lonely plank. I’m so glad that you and Ken are the lovely afterglow of that early dues. Hugs to you two! Susie
Amen, amen, amen! Standing in my chair, taking off my TShirt and doing the overhead rodeo lasso with it! Cheering wildly with allllllllll the other former bad marriage survivors. You nailed it, Glenda.
HAHA! I love your celebration!
Glenda, your opening question is so compelling. I love how you weave in Pound’s poetry. Your final lines say it all, and I couldn’t agree more! So glad you are in a much better place now!
I love how you started with the question and ended with the answer. It makes the answer that much more profound. The reworking and addition of Pound’s ideas works so well here especially:
Lonely versus being alone was a theme in Sarah’s poem today too. There is a huge difference between the two. Beautifully put, Glenda. Thank you.
The I and We
As life roils in a morass of complexities —
tough relationships, queasy mistakes,
phobic walls, fissures,
miscalculations, polarities,
over and under estimations —
in the hurricane moments of my life,
when I suffer the wind-slap of all these
in a simultaneous wallop,
sucked into the eye of questioning
my worth, my next move, my way through,
the balm at that silent second
as I stand still,
deafened to the storm, reaching for a solution
to tether me to tomorrow,
three questions lasso the tempest:
–What have I got to lose?
–Why does it matter?
–How might we…?
and I am delivered
to a deeper understanding,
grounded in fertile soil,
knowing that all the answers are richer
when the I
sees a
We.
by Susie Morice, April 16, 2021©
This speaks so clearly to the frustration of this year and so many other smaller moments. I love these lines:
I felt that “wallop” down to my toes.
Susie, this feeling of unity in the we is so reassuring that together we’ve got this! I can hear a song in these words. Love the double meaning of I/eye
delivered
to a deeper understanding,
grounded in fertile soil,
knowing that all the answers are richer
when the I
sees a
We.
Susie, wow, you are speaking straight to my heart today. I love the storm imagery and how that plays into the I at the end of your poem. Absolutely loved this stanza:
Your poem not only shows power but also grace. Difficult times create such havoc, and self-worth and value are often at stake. Incredible poem, I am deeply moved! Thank you!
Susie,
First, I love the structure of your poem, the way it functions as a delayed response to a series of circumstances. It reminds me of Walt Whitman’s “O, Me, O, Life.” What am I without we? That is everything.
Susie, I wonder if I’ll ever write like this and many others here. Amazing. The hurricane metaphor, I feel like everyone else, and the three questions that calm to this perfect ending:
So much hope and support in these lines. Thank you!
Wow, Susie, what powerful images you have painted with your words. This first line:
I am standing with you in the muck of all those you mention –fissure, relationships, polarities and more. Then that hurricane stanza–so rich in imagery. I learn from you all every day!
I love the balm of your questions, and the reflection of the importance of we being in it together.
It was way past time to get out of my own head. Here is my attempt today:
Our youngest is the question asker
Multiple questions a day
Almost daily.
A competitive child,
I think he likes to constantly gauge himself
against the others
and validate himself in the pecking order.
His curiosity about pop culture and history
often leads to wanting our input.
Which is cool.
Who’s your favorite kid?
Who was the best baby? The toughest?
Who has been the easiest kid to raise?
Did you ever get drunk in high school?
Who was your first kiss?
Was Dad your first?
What are your top five favorite movies?
Who’s the best JHS basketball player of all time?
Who’s your favorite President?
Is David Freese your all-time favorite Cardinal?
Who would you most want to sit down to dinner with?
Which kid is the most like Deeck?
Who are your top five favorite students of all time?
Have you ever wondered how God hears millions of prayers at a time?
Questions
Some deep, some heavy.
Some easy to ask, others hard.
Some easy to answer, some hard.
That fact that he asks
tells a lot about him.
Sometimes I circumvent
the tougher topics,
not wanting to tell on myself.
Sometimes I am brutally honest,
knowing the open lines of communication
will serve a purpose at some point.
Often, the question
tells more than the answer.
I’m glad he wants to know.
~Susan Ahlbrand
16 April 2021
Oh the myriad and unexpected joys of parenthood! Like you, there are some questions I would obfuscate about, others, I feel the truth might save my sons some pain.
I admire your son for his dogged questioning, I find myself wondering questions, but I don’t always have the courage to ask them.
Yes, Susan, just that he asks is the triumph of your poem’s query. Hard questions or easy, what is so marvelous is that he asks. I love this. Save this poem for your “youngest,” and mail it to him when he has his own family and questions his kids and himself about how he’s parenting. That’ll be a priceless letter. Susie
Oh, Susan, I just love how your poem reveals so much about your child’s inquisitiveness and how you handle these questions. Your last line is one to savor! Wonderful!
I love what you decided to write about. You have showed me so much about your son, through his questioning. I appreciate that you added in a whole stanza of some of them ending with this:
Wow. I’ve never thought that and it’s amazing. And this right here, is the power of a question:
Thank you.
I really thought I was going to tackle a different question today, at least that was my intention. However, then I was writing with students this morning and a question became a challenge became a poem that I am quite proud of. I have to credit my student for this one — I never would have written this poem without her inspiration and showing me her math notes. I didn’t understand them, but I had fun writing this all the same. It’s gone through a few changes in my notebook, but here is the “final” form as it stands right now.
Are math problems considered writing?
by Erica Johnson
I had a test in math class.
So notebook time transformed
into time to study:
A not equals
where A is not 500
or 5000 but is line 2.
How does one prepare for math
in the wrong class to write
letters and letters become
numbers and numbers become
equations become…
a page plastered with problems.
My writing teacher sees numbers in her poetry.
My math teacher sees poetry in his numbers.
But all I see are a series of solutions and calculations
to derive me nuts!
So how does one take a logarithm
and make it a metered rhythm?
Solve for X.
Erica, I LOVE that you wrote from your student’s perspective. You express confusion so well, especially with the continuation of lines in stanza 2. And I love how the teachers see a connection between subjects in:
Very well done. You should be proud. And I absolutely LOVE that there was student inspiration pulled from something some teachers would just frown upon.
Love it!
I remember my calculus teacher in high school saying that she loved diagraming sentences because it felt like solving an equation to her. Haha there definitely is some overlap!!
I always tell my students that there are compelling reasons I’m not a math teacher, so I felt this poem fully. I teach a novel that has a math professor and one equation is considered the poetry of math–Euler’s Formula. I had a mathy student research and explain it to me, and I learned a greater appreciation for the beauty of mathematics. I love that you combined the two often dichotomous subjects.
Erica – There’s a delightful calamity in this poem— one that resonates with me in a big way.
Holy cow… I hear that!! Such an astute observation!
Yes, a dandy poem and the end line delivers with a bang!
Susie
Well-done and so true, Erica! I absolutely love these lines: My writing teacher sees numbers in her poetry.
My math teacher sees poetry in his numbers.
Angie, what a wonderful prompt! I can’t wait to carve out the time to work on this. Your poem is incredible! I love so much of it, but this part really popped:
Thanks so much for introducing yourself in this clever poetic way of sharing your experiences as a mixed race lady. Having watched and read what is going on in our society today, I’ve chosen to write the question other mixed raced young folks are asking, especially those who cannot “pass” for white. Some of our readers recall segregation, integration, and assimilation approaches to social interactions among races in the United States. This poem speaks to the frustrations many felt/feel.
Why Bother?
As youngsters, they were taught
What they must do and what they ought
Not do.
In adolescence, they were told
Stand up tall, but don’t act too bold.
Oh no!
In their teen years, they were advised
To talk like them; they’ll think you’re wise.
But no!
Don’t be surprised that being wise or
Shrinking back won’t change the fact
That you are brown or black.
So, they say, “Why bother?
Why can’t I just be me!”
I am lingering on this stanza especially:
Because as an “English” teacher I guess I’m supposed to teach students how to write “proper” English. It’s difficult sometimes, to find boundaries – teach young people how to write but also let them express themselves how they want, which are both my “duty”. I hate that some people look at young people who don’t speak “properly” as not “wise”. I have always been in awe of my students who can express themselves with language that doesn’t fit inside the standard English box and those who are able to code-switch.
This is a good one: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CB8pBiUavtg
Angie, it’s difficult to insist that students learn to “code-switch” or “code-blend” or “speak other language”, if they see no benefit to themselves personally or physically. If we “promise” that learning other dialects and langauges will be worth the effort, we should be able to show them when and where that is true.
A compelling case is difficult to build when so much evidence in the media demonstrates the uselessness of the hard work if it is impossible to change in the one thing that creates danger and limits opportunity.
BUT…we MUST NOT stop teaching students to hope and to be prepared for a time when what we look like will not be an automatic signal for disrespect and devaluing our existence.
We KEEP THE FAITH and CARRY THE LIGHT!
Thank you for responding with your insights, Anna.
Anna, your poem resonates. Especially against the backdrop of your title. It truly feels as if there is no possible answer other than “why bother?” You give us the despair and hopelessness of working within a system that won’t allow one to rise or even maintain or sustain. I am moved by your words. Hugs.
Jennifer, as I wrote in response to Angie, I am not at the point of dispair. I believe we each can make a positive difference for the students, family and friends in our circles. We can BE THE LIGHT, show that God created variety, diversity, and value in all of us. PERIOD. FULL STOP. And, consequently, we have the privilege of being the change we want to see.
The “hugs” will do it!
Thanks.
Anna this poem really hits hard. The frustration is apparent from the opening title question to the end with the exclamation. I love how each stanza has a similar structure as well — further driving your point home.
Anna, your poem speaks the truth. Your final lines are so striking and painful. Thanks so much for sharing your incredible poem!
Miss Manners
Please would you do this thing that you really don’t want to do?
Please would you ignore your gut and just accommodate others?
Please let go of your own needs and desires for the greater good?
Please gets used as a talisman against reason. If only someone asks nicely,
Then, by all means, you must acquiesce to something uncomfortable,
Ill-advised, unhealthy, or just too much right this minute.
How do the civilized amongst us resist the siren call of polite requests?
It must be possible, people say “no” all the time, resisting that magical word.
Perhaps that is it, some have ingrained the magic of “please” into their psyches,
Certain that their ability to acquire seconds at the dinner table,
A sweet between meals, or a turn with a much sought after toy will
Endure into adulthood. Weren’t we always told–say the magic word?
Then, you must positively always remember to be polite and say “thank you.”
Thank you for giving me this gift that doesn’t fit or suit or gratify.
Thank you for asking me to do yet another thing there is no time for.
Thank you for being polite when you’re asking for the impossible.
Thank you has become weak and anemic and an automatic response
To just about everything. Sending an email? Sign it with “Thank you.”
Buying an outrageously expensive item? Thank you very much for
Allowing me to buy this item with my own money and support your salary.
Thank you for pushing me into doing something that I don’t want to.
Please stop, no really, I mean it. Thank you so much.
Cara,
This poem of questions is fabulous. I like how you took please and thank you and made a question poem out of it.
Seriously, why do we do this???
I can definitely hear the frustration in this. And for the points you are making about “please” and “thank you” this is such a brilliant last line: “Please stop, no really, I mean it. Thank you so much.” DANG!
Cara, this poem is powerful! As I was reading through it now, I was remembering you reading it aloud this morning. This poem really shows off that amazing vocabulary of yours, and I can see that when you’re angry it gets even more blatant! I see myself in this poem, and I see all women in this poem. *Thank you* for writing this poem. *Please* keep them coming hehe.
Dear Angie: I appreciate the prompt. It is a simple concept, but one that allows for so much heartfelt writings. It didn’t occur to me until just now how much emotion was behind the questions that people frequently ask me. I immensely enjoyed writing my poem today.
‘YOU DON’T ACTUALLY WANT THAT, DO YOU?’
“Why are you reenlisting, bro?
I thought you hated the military”
If only it that were simple.
Everyday I wake up, wishing I could walk away,
But I can’t.
My warrior nature is infused with my human soul,
And no matter how much they abuse or neglect or use me,
I’m not strong enough to stay away.
“Why would you be disappointed about going to Europe?
You actually want to go to the Middle-East?
Isn’t not-getting-shot-at better than getting-shot-at?”
No, actually, it is really not.
They never bothered to ask themselves:
What happens when you turn someone into a weapon
And then deny them the opportunity to be utilized?
Can you imagine the hollow, emptiness?
Like an apex predator trapped in a zoo,
All I can do is sit and watch,
And wonder what could have been.
Jairus, you have put me into the mind of a soldier. I’ve definitely heard questions like this asked of other people before, but I’ve not heard the tough internal thoughts/responses. I appreciate the multiple questions added to emphasize how people don’t understand in more than one way. And the end:
Thank you for expressing your feelings, thank you for your service. And thank you for letting me know how much you enjoyed writing today. Stay safe.
Jairus, thank you for giving us this insight. It’s hard to imagine the need or want to be redeployed. But you allow us to see into that. And that is significant. I’ve never imagined that soldiers thought of themselves as weapons. But your question about denying them opportunity to be utilized and the comparison to a trapped apex predator drives that home. Thank you for all you’ve done as a serviceman.
Thank you, Jarius, for fighting physically for what so many of us take for granted…the right to say “I don’t want to!”
Hi Jairus,
Totally blew me away:
The power in these lines give life to your calling to protect! Thank you for honoring what is not appreciated enough. Wow, I’m curious to know what is next.
Angie, what a gorgeous poem! I am spellbound by the ending,
This is such a truism, should be a mantra that we teach everyone, how we are so interconnected, how we affect each other.
I’ll try to hone in on a question of my own…write a poem later in the day.
Why do we . . . ?
I searched for answers, devouring
Words, sentences, paragraphs, pages
As if I were a feral animal, emptying
My elementary school library of ideas by nine.
The question shifted,
The blank refilled, and my
Pen turned to the page,
filling notebooks with scribble
I called stories. They held the answers until
The question changed once again:
Why do you . . .?
Want, need, yearn.
All answers: incorrect.
Back to the original question.
A degree in anthropology with
This question in my mouth:
Why do you . . . ?
Explanations turned to a thesis,
A theory with science supposed
To give me, others, some comfort.
Instead it was Pandora’s box, allowing
Me to see every crack, flaw, broken edge
Of what we call the American Dream.
My daughter, now three, has
Yet to ask Why do we . . . ?
But I dread the cadence of
Those innocent syllables as
How can I tell her there
Is no one, no right, answer?
Thank you for this knowledge-seeking journey you have taken us on, Jordan. Your yearning for answers is present in “devouring” straight from the beginning. I really like how the question changed over time and I love “innocent syllables” despite the difficulty in answering them.
Jordan,
My favorite part is the final stanza. It all flows together very well and it does an excellent job at wrapping everything up. I like how you incorporated you daughter into the poem because it helped show how this is a question that transcends generations, a question that will be asked until the end of humanity.
I loved the progression at work in this poem — going from the childhood of the speaker to dealing with a child as a parent about to ask the same questions.
Thanks to Stefani Boutelier, I will always be thinking about the way a title offers a way of making meaning for the reader but also the poet. I am sorry this one is so long as Angie said above. There is something about working through this stanza structure that requires some unpacking — at least in the first draft, which is where/how I will leave it today. On Tuesday, I was a guest speaker for a class of pre and inservice teachers at Illinois State. They were/are lovely and asked many wonderful questions, but one has really stayed with me, kept me up at night, has me rethinking/problematizing my way of being, so bear with (if you are still with me after reading all of this) as I write to process this. (And don’t feel bad if you scroll past because you only have a few minutes to read and respond today.) Hugs, friends — so grateful for Angie’s inspiration and your patience!
In the Gap
The Question
How did you deal with the isolation?
the preservice teachers asked me
smiling through a Zoom square
from Illinois where I used to be
a junior high teacher
on a Tuesday night at 7 o’ clock
2 years from when I used to be
a junior high teacher.
“The isolation?” I asked.
Yes, you said you were alone
in students choosing
what they read
what they wrote
what their grades would be–
wasn’t that isolating? Lonely?
My Answer
I never imagined I’d become a teacher
never considered teaching as a social endeavor
had no dreams of faculty lounges,
pep rallies, hallway high-fives,
teacher BFF’s, or happy hour cheers.
I’d microwave my Lean Cuisine
in the “Teacher’s Lounge” (as though
it belonged to just one) say “hello”
to BFF circles and flirting faculty
and return to H103, filled with
students who hated lunchroom
socializing as much as I, who
feared the bully in line, who
just wanted a place free from
white noise.
I became a teacher for stories,
spaces to read, write, and witness
stories, so anything that
interfered, marginalized, silenced
student voices, I would speak
up– even if that meant asking a
question at the end of a faculty
meeting about
zeros suffocating inspiration,
simulations traumatizing being,
textbooks conflating history,
curriculum colonizing minds.
Being a teacher meant
everyone’s story had space
to breathe — even faculty. And
some came along with me
reimagining classroom spaces
with translanguaging, portfolios
conferring, #ownvoices stories–
though I always ate lunch in H103
in voluntary isolation, but never
lonely.
Reflection
Loneliness is discomfort
a perceived gap between
desires for social connection
and actual experiences of it.
I never had much desire for
common sense notions of
the social, discomfort never
stirred toward only from
faculty connection, so I missed out
on what may have happened–
if I knew how to nurture a BFF
faculty group, if I had gone to happy hours.
What stories would I have heard? told?
How much easier would it have been
to shift the landscape of our school
when I used to be a junior high teacher?
What if I could have been a BFF
when I used to be a junior high teacher?
Would there have been more
choice and voice in our school?
Question
What remains in the gap
perceived by others all those years
I was a junior high teacher?
Sarah, I resonate with so much in here. I am not a social butterfly at all. I spend all my energy in my classroom, so when it comes time to socialize outside of that, at school, it’s just not in me. I stay in the classroom. And now I wonder these same thoughts. I really appreciate that you chose to stay in the form that I suggested. Your honest reflection to this question creates such thoughtful questions in turn and I am also left wondering what would have happened “in the gap.” Thank you for sharing all of this and thank you for all the work you do that continues this:
These two lines are breathtaking, to me – I think you are exactly the kind of teacher I would have sought in my middle school years, and beyond…the kind of teacher I always strived to be:
Yes, yes, yes! I, too, “never considered teaching as a social endeavor” – it’s hard to imagine this being perceived as a gap.
I am reminded of what each of us brings to a question, our own perspective…I wonder if this preservice teacher is coming from a very social experience (college often is!) and hasn’t really ‘felt’ or lived the role of the teacher . . . . Wow, you’ve left me thinking…this question, too, if you had been more social with faculty –
how do we begin to answer it? We’ll never know. Powerful reflective poem, Sarah!!
Sarah, I never gave much thought to becoming a teacher as part of a social experience until reading your piece, but these same words could be from me. I’ve advocated for providing students with a space away from constant socializing but it’s hard to get others to recognize the exhaustion that comes when introverts are pushed into social situations. You have given voice to this so beautifully. And your contemplation of what might have been if you’d gone to happy hours and been a BFF seems wistful. I can only argue that each and every way we impact students is necessary, and those differences important.
Sarah — This poem is a whole discourse that I value greatly. The lines in your “answer” really grabbed me and made me feel so hopeful. This…
and
I love the examination of the “gap” … there is always that gap between a question and an answer …between loneliness and social connection…like that next dimension … what IS that gap…I love reflecting on this… I think of it as that moment of silence right before the tornado slams…it is a potent moment, that gap… I think perhaps necessary to give life to a storm (whether that storm is a good one or a scary one).
You could use this poem as a discourse piece for a pre-service teacher methods class. Susie
A fascinating reflection, Sarah, clear and straightforward, honest… I too would be the one speaking up against things crushing inspiration; I did that VERY THING today. I am lingering on your line “what if I could have been” and the idea of perceived gaps…yet we are who we are. Your comfort with that echoes. I also hear the echo of a favorite mentor who once told me when I was lamenting what I might have done differently: “Don’t should on yourself” – I’ve never forgotten it! Your question, your poem, is so compelling.
Sarah, I think your questions are compelling. I have seen teachers be able to manipulate things through their connections and relationships, some for the good, but not always. I think that is why merit pay seems particularly scary. I love how you reveal the power of your teaching style here. Student choice is beyond important, and I applaud your action to ask the tough questions at the end of the faculty meeting and in this poem.
Sarah, wow, what a great inward-looking question about such an important topic. As a good reflection does, yours has more questions than answers, and leads to your final question. A lot of unanswerable questions, but one thing I noticed was about what you avoided in the lunchroom, and what you did instead is priceless for the students who joined you there:
Sarah, I’m late responding but up middle of night with a tummy ache so I’m here. I’m certain this needs to be shared broadly. I know many educators (new and well seasoned ?) who need this message. You are a disrupter and an inspiration. It takes courage to have been in your shoes and that is why you are who you are today in the field of education. Don’t ever join the “Teacher’s Lounge” folx especially if they don’t know how to use plural possessives! Love that!
So much to love but this spoke to me:
Lately, my staff has had trouble giving space for differing opinions, yet always claiming to be all about SEL and emotional support. Stupid.
Love you and your work! #badass #shero #disrupter
Sorry for your tummy ache. Hope you are feeling better. Thanks for your ongoing support.
Why?
the question
we begin with
as children
remains
I have
so many why’s
and not enough
answers
So, so true. There are just sooo many things I don’t understand. Possibly the MOST powerful question.
Jennifer,
I appreciate your economy of words and how the white space gestures at the enormity of your question.
Sarah
Jennifer, this is so precise and yet enormous – not enough answers!
So succinct and true, Jennifer- the whys grow no less as we grow older.
Jennifer, it never ceases to amaze me how so few words say so much. Your poem does that today!
Jennifer, I was thinking of the Why question today because it became a joke in our family. My youngest daughter was always asking “Why?” to every single thing and movement We would just giggle. Not enough answers or time to explain. Then we wondered if she really wanted an answer.
Question?
That question that haunts me to my very core,
the one I avoid.
The one that I shove back
into the depths of my ugly heart
And don’t let it surface.
But others dig deep and have been
doing so this week.
Susan inspired you yesterday.
Angie’s prompt reminded you today.
These and others have asked tough questions.
Why don’t you too, Denise?
Speak it, repent, reframe the question.
Not today. Maybe
Soon.
That first line! I got chills. It is difficult to share things, definitely, but when you do “Maybe / Soon” we will be here to bear witness to and honor your truth. Thanks for the nod to us. And I love the question/encouragement in “Why don’t you too, Denise?”
Denise,
Thank you for this reflection about your question. I see you taking care in acknowledging how tender the space is before the question mark and what it will mean for you to put the letters, words there. Being reminded is enough for today. You have already reframed the question here “Why don’t you too?” And you have answered it here “Soon.” This is grace in poetry!
Thank you,
Sarah
Denise, I think it is enough to simply know our own questions, to wrestle with them within. I challenge you on this line, “into the depths of my ugly heart” – I cannot imagine your beautiful heart this way. Thank you for showing how hard it is to write from the heart . . . I know I find myself dancing around topics.
Denise . . .
you sure went with what is on your mind. The fact that you don’t go toward the question becomes your poem. Perfect. I love this part:
You will. But be prepared when you do. It’s like wearing a way-too-heavy coat on a hot summer day. Heavy.
But ultimately worth it. I hope.
Denise, what aching emanates from your lines. To me they’re quite courageous without even asking the tough questions – you have acknowledged the toughness. Your lines are so powerful; I can relate to them more than you might imagine.
Denise, haunting to the very core, shoving back to the depths, avoiding. I am always waking those lines, too, so moved by the growth of writers who dig deeper and unearth the richness of soul. I admire those who are in a time of doing the work of self and am always thinking I will catch the next wave and try to write as close to the bone.
I have deep compassion for you and this poem because it could easily be mine. Holding and shoving back that question, whatever it is, we all do it.
I have a feeling that whenever you do speak it, it’ll be received with loving arms.
?
Angie,
Thank you for hosting us today! Your celebration of all the roots of you is a warm hug and a nod to students who may feel that it’s a disadvantage that they don’t fit into one particular part of the sorting mold. You show them that it’s something to celebrate. What a wonderful expression of being able to be a universal voice and check every box, love every race, embrace every culture! You’re you – with so many unique gifts. I love this!
My question came from my preacher father when I was discussing some community pushback experienced in a school system that was developing a new Humanities pathway.
Asking for a Friend
On a red clay hill
in Georgia
a tiny parachute
floats down from
the blue sky
with a looming
question
from Heaven:
How do the
multitudes
support
Christian missions
while
rejecting the
humanitarianism
of
social activism?
Asking for a friend.
Ohhh such an important question! I really like how you have expanded this poem, especially the question that lasts 9 lines, adds to its lingering importance. Also the choice to title and end this with the now popular “asking for a friend”. I’m so interested to know approx. when this happened! Thank you for sharing and your kind words.
Kim,
Love the bookends here with the title – -still thinking about titles from Stefani’s inspiration yesterday. And I appreciate that your poem is so smart, that it knows the answer to the question that the “tiny parachute” carries. That in framing the question, you call the multitudes to action!
Sarah
Kim – what a call to the multitudes! This is so beautiful. Love that the question came from your preacher father; love how the title both opens and closes this precious poem.
Kim — This is a powerful question. It tugs as the realities of hypocrisy and honors the question …even if the “Asking for a friend” lets us know there is a strong voice here that acknowledges the complexity of even asking tough questions. I really love the opening lines that let us know that Georgia terrain and the stubborn clay of never changing. Keep questioning! Hugs, Susie
Kim…I can see that little parachute… your writing is always so sensory and here it is especially poignant, preceding that enormous question: How?
Kim, this is a question that has shaken some Christian brothers and sisters to the core. They have supported sending hundreds of thousands of dollars for “foreign missions”, but freak out when asked to do some as simple as being the doer at home… spending time, instead of money… to help a family across town recover after a financial tragedy, an unexpected death in the family, illness perpetuated by environmental polution, all the “needs” that tear at their hearts about people across the waters!
Wow, how amazing that you took me from a red clay hill in Georgia to social activism in so few lines with incredible imagery! Yes, I would love to know the answer to that question, I’m the friend.
Lovely poem, important work for us humans with Christian missions.
?
Angie! We write to find answers. We read for the same. Your poem allows us to discover and know simultaneously. There are wonders in every cluster of words – “Didn’t we all originate there? Did ya say ‘em write? Slippery noodles. We are all her. Crossing borders for fun with rights and free will. Mix them together, what do you get? Because of you, I now understand me.” This piece pulls all the edges together and gives them voice too. Just beautiful. (I am searching for questions and answers but wanted to respond to your piece right away)
Thanks for your kind words, Jennifer <3
Dear Angie: I have so enjoyed reading your poems! Today’s strikes such deep chords, especially the lines “African roots/Didn’t we all originate there?” Uh – YEAH – thanks to our mother, Mitochondrial Eve… my own DNA shows a trace of West Africa and I long to know the story. Let me also say that I am mesmerized by your wordplay here. There’s such a musicality to it. Thanks so much for this inspiration — I am not quite done with my question poem, but here’s where it stands, thus far:
Speaking Points (Do They?)
Glowing screen split into
graphs, trendlines, colors
a virtual sea of data
and faces of colleagues floating
with the question:
“You are the literacy person—
what do you think?”
What I think is that
there’s no secret code
or formula
or magic bullet
or any infallible translation
of impersonal little dots
scattered like breadcrumbs
for leading to ponderous conclusions
about the beating heart
of a living, breathing child
and so I say,
“I don’t know what I think
until I hear this child read.”
For while the thunder of uncertainty rumbles
and pedagogies rise and fall
like generations
on billowing waves,
I cannot imagine the whole
of my own existence
crammed into little dots
for others to interpret
the magnitude of my story
or divining and defining
the scope of my future
without ever hearing
my voice
WOW, Fran! You make me so, so excited to see where this will take everyone.
From the question floating on “faces of colleagues”
to “beating heart / of a living, breathing child”
to your answer
to your reflection “pedagogies rise and fall like generations” and the last 9 lines, especially! Very profound and poetic.
I will give this to my admin and everyone else should too! 🙂
Also, I love how you’ve put a play on words question in your title that connects to the importance of voice. This reminds me of the importance of Stefani’s prompt yesterday.
Oh wow! Such a powerful poem that gets across so much of what we sometimes forget about those data points.
Fran,
As Susie Morice would say, “Wowza!” First, I love this word “trendlines” — did you make that up? Brilliant! And then, well, just so profound is your lesson/message about literacy that so many people in the business of schooling rather than education miss completely. No more of these “little dots” or measurement tools that restrict ways of knowing and making meaning.
Thank you for this,
Sarah
Fran, I love this! Someone at some random staff meeting — about our “not so great” SAT or ACT scores — said, “you know, I’d like to have a picture of the students next to all of this data. These are people we’re talking about.” And my brain exploded! Of course. It was such a powerful mental shifting that occured. I wish I had your poem years ago. We talk about percentages of “at-risk” kids and how many “free and reduced lunches” we provide in our district and we’re shown some graph or chart. These are people we’re talking about, not data sets. (Sad to note, though, that it wasn’t the “presenter” who was giving the information, who came up with this insight.) So, again, thank you for this poem!
Exactly! This hits me to my core! Put faces next to these scores and that would be a game-changer for sure! Love that! Make it happen, Scott! Let’s do this!
Fran, such rich images here. Thank you for the reminder of this
I cannot imagine…others…
I love the sound and weight of these lines.
I’m late responding but I have to share how much this means to me. I DETEST all the diagnostic garbage we are fed by feds and how it’s swallowed and enjoyed by so many! You hit the nail on the head. The stories, the voice, the spirits of our scholars won’t ever fit into these stupid boxes with dots! Brilliant!
Every school leader should know this by now and stop shoving these idiotic programs down our throats.
????????
Angie, this prompt and your poem are incredibly heartfelt. I have so many, many students that live what you write. Thank you. My week is swamping me…so I hope to think on this prompt and get back to writing later.
Thank you, Linda. Looking forward.
Oh, Angie, no need to apologize for the length of that beauty. I wanted it to keep going. The section about being the white language English teacher is hilarious.
And this…
Be still, my ?. This is so very lovely.
Thanks for the challenge. I’ll see you later today.
Thank you, Denise! Can’t wait!