Study Hall Tonight

Frank exclaims, "what happened!?" as the printer spews forth many more pages than he anticipated.  Later, I approach him to lower his voice, and he gives me a self-deprecating smile, plaintively confessing, "I am going away." Suddenly, I hear a soft, high voice singing. Little, happy Vy is contentedly  reading some very thick classic while listening to an opera, which she apparently knows by heart. Now how am I gonna shut that down?

I am suddenly overcome with one of those flooded moments: these people are precious. I look over at Andy, the very big, very loud guy, who is right now hunched over his math problems, not making a sound.

I look over to see a girl furtively toss a social studies book to two others at the table next to her. It falls just short and crashes in a splayed mess on the floor. The three girls look up wide-eyed. I turn and bite my lip to keep from laughing out loud.

Meanwhile, Frank bounces over to the three-hole punch at the circulation desk. In one swift motion, his papers and the three-hole punch are on the floor. And that is it. I burst out laughing, exactly in the manner that I go about shushing all evening, and though I try, I can't quite contain it; hiding my face in the 500s section, I wipe away tears. Some days, keeping people quiet is an impossible joke.

English 451: an abomination to sunset

I watch the window closely.
Down here in the basement,
the gray walls now hold all the light we can keep.
In the melancholy conversation of money and soul-less substitutes,
I know wishing does no good.
But the presence and delight of day has left the room;
he crept up the stairs,
and through the door.
And I must politely stay,
although I could scream
for the emptiness
he has left behind.

I Rock Your Baby Son to Sleep

When you announced that you would be married instead of going to college, I felt giddy with joy. Not, mostly, for noble reasons: it was putting together a wedding at such a young age; I must have seen a hundred movies with weddings and flowers, and rings, and kisses. Part of me was sad, too: we had planned to be college roommates; we would have made friends and histories that entwined forever.

So what would our lives look like at this distance? Occasional visits, always something shared deep down: separating histories, but a wire that kept our hearts moving in the same direction. Praise God! I have not lost you, friend. And I have gained a whole family of friends because you chose so bravely:

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I rock your baby son to sleep
Slanted light from the hallway
A CD plays a lullaby
Mellow-sweet, a gentle moment.

Suddenly, a pang tells me
how blessed you are among women;
that even to endure a thousand
crying, up-and-down nights,
bottle-or-no-bottle nights,
is worth his trusting, sleepy heart,
his fingers twirling his cropped, blond hair.
He snuggles into my arm and my side.

If I remain single and childless,
tonight I felt I’d miss
half the stars in the sky.

Never one for greed, I hope,
I delight in seeing your faces as
the skies unfold new grandeur before you:
the word “dog,” learning to run,
then the rock-step, snapping fingers,
sharing toys with his new brother.

From a Poet I Love

I found this poem by Ken M. M. Ecker from 2009. Go to his poem blog for more: http://poem365.wordpress.com/


Moments on Summer Nights


There are moments on lonely summer nights
When it seems that you can reach up just high enough
to grab hold of a star and pull it down
till you can hold it in your hands and show it off
And squeeze the stardust off into a potion of hope
An elixer in a glass you swirl like red wine
you sip and roll on the tongue to savor.
Damn
If only the stars could last forever.

A Beautiful Thing

Please tell me this is normal. Have you ever looked around your classroom, and thought, "I love all of these people. Just the way they are, just because they're here, I love them"? This has happened several times in the past few days. I am calling it the honeymoon stage, to which, until recently, I thought I was immune. I've noticed that it primarily happens when the students are quietly following along as we read, or when they're quietly writing. This must be how parents feel when they look in on their sleeping children, and a rush of joy, euphoria, gratitude, and love envelopes them. It's a beautiful thing.