And I Know It

We had our annual visit from my favorite guest poet today and the kids really enjoyed the activities. Just as gratifying, he was impressed with their imagination and creativity, too, and attributed it to my teaching. Aw shucks!

As always, I grabbed the chance to participate with my students as a fellow writer. Here's my poem for the day:

Poems are useless-- 

unless they are fresh like tomatoes off the vine,

or pickled like Brussels sprouts,

or black like t-shirts,

soft like number 2 pencils,

cellos and ukuleles.

I want poetry that climbs Sargent Mountain,

changes my sheets every day,

brings me puppies and kittens,

takes me to Paris.

Words like sweet potato empanadas,

Grandma's fried chicken,

down pillows on Sunday morning.

I'm a quiet poet,

quiet in the chaos of a sixth grade classroom,

watching my students,

sipping inspiration like air.

Poems are useless--

unless they are black crows on white snow,

a scarecrow in an empty field,

four leaf clovers or wild blueberries.

I want poetry hot out of the oven,

poetry that pedals madly down Superman Hill,

o bushwhacks to the top of the mountain

collapsing on the warm granite ledge.

I am not a poet,

but I am a bowl of plums

cold from the ice box;

I am Emily Dickinson's night gown:

my words smart, insurgent, 
goliath, crusading.

Poems are useless--

unless they wear tie-dye,

rise like the moon over Lake Lugano,

or brew a potion of dragon spit and candy corn.

I want poetry that teaches me to play the drums

in a cafe in Montreal,

rocks me like a hammock in the shade,

snorkels into a lost cave filled with pirate treasure.

I am a poet like the midnight wind

that blows open the french doors,

like the gold finches flitting in the river birches.

Words will knock you down

like an old farm house in a tornado,

and when you get back up,

say, "Good."

Since You Asked

"Wait! Are you married?" asked one of my students this morning. She was hanging out before the bell and had spied the ring that I've been wearing for about 15 years.

I hesitated only a moment, and it was a moment at all, because this was the first student (or anyone, really) who had asked me that question since I was, indeed, married.

"Yes," I said, suppressing a little giggle at how odd it seemed to say so. Fifty-two and a half years is a long time.

"Cool!" she said.

I know, right?

Week x Week

"Next Sunday is the last Sunday of the school year," I reminded Heidi a little while ago.

She shrugged. "So? We still have a full week of work after that."

"I know," I said, but it will be the last Sunday we have to school the next day, for a while."

She nodded in agreement. "That's something," she replied.

"Of course, the next Sunday it will be the day before we leave for Buffalo," I told her.

"And the next Sunday will be the day before we come home," she answered.

"And the next Sunday will be just a couple of days before Richard and Annabelle come," I added. "And then the next Sunday will be Treat's birthday, and the next one we might go to the beach, and the next one we'll be home, but the next one will be the one before we go to Alaska, and the next one we'll be in Alaska, and the next one we'll be almost to Vancouver, and the next one we'll be home, but... we'll have to go to school that week."

"Stop," she shook her head. "Just. Stop."

Hanging on Like a Yo-Yo

I woke up around 5 this morning and never quite made it back to sleep. I didn't mind-- it's been a busy day and those few extra hours allowed me to practice my ukulele and do a little local history research in addition to the chores and errands we had scheduled.

We also had some time to go to the movies late this afternoon. We chose the theater near us with the comfy reclining seats, and I was all set, leaning back with my feet up, my fountain seltzer in the cup holder and a bag of popcorn to share with Heidi, when what eluded me this morning evaded me no longer, and I peacefully napped through the second act of the film.

Quitting Time

"Sitting is worse than smoking," my friend Mary told me the other day, and I totally understood what she was saying.

After racking up about 30 hours of butt time since Monday finishing up the school literary magazine, this morning at 9:30 I gleefully clicked SEND. Then I got up and stretched and walked around my classroom.

I would have spent the rest of the day on my feet, but for my lesson plan calling for me to edit and print final drafts of my students' final writing pieces. They were on the laptop and the laptop was on my desk. When the final bell rang, I spent some time walking around both in the school and in my my room delivering and sorting through piles of accumulated papers. Sadly, though,  there was more to do at my desk, and I ended up sitting another hour or so before I finally packed up to go home for the weekend.

I am consoled by three things: first the fact that, in general, I don't rack up as much desk time as I did this week; second, this is my last magazine: I'm passing the baton next year. And third? In two weeks I won't even have a desk to sit behind!

Yep! I'm quittin' sittin'!

They've Got Talent

Today was our annual school talent show. Organized in an Everyone's Got Talent model, this is one of my favorite events of the year. Because it is entirely student produced, the performances range wildly from stunning to awful. Personally, I have nothing but admiration for any kid who has the guts to get up on stage, and there is always someone who chokes under the pressure and runs off stage weeping and into the arms of their supportive, if drama-loving, friends. There is also no shortage of kooky and novel acts, and today was no exception. One of the best performances of the show was a girl with a jump rope routine. She skipped and leapt and jumped gymnastically across the stage to music, and it was amazing! Then there was the duet of singing sixth graders, accompanied on the piano by one classmate while another did a bit of an interpretive dance across the stage. It was sublimely, endearingly wacky in a way that was so sincere and soooo absolutely middle school that I was reminded once again of why I love teaching this age.

The Cord of the King

I don't pay attention to many fashion rules for myself, but I do think that wearing shorts to school anytime after June 1 is just fine. Unfortunately, after the hottest May on record, June has been downright chilly around here. In fact, this morning I chose a pair of light gray corduroys to wear and only hesitated a moment before pulling them on. Far from being unseasonable, I was glad I had 'em, and only wished I'd worn a warmer shirt, too!