Poet & Teacher

I am sitting in your loft bed
when I hear you say,
“Let me give you,
all you desire.”

I sit on the verge
of nervous laughter
dizzy with unknowing
what to say
to every fantasy granted,
and then I realize,
you are talking
to the cat.

Without a doubt
this much you can do,
and I am harder, it is true.

Outside a man sits topless
by the street window.
I imagine he has cats.

I will purr louder,
if you let me.

On the other side of where you are
there is someplace you want to be
(watch your feet not go straight,
or look up, end up, where you meant).

Some things cannot be compared
(there is too much there where
protons make nebulae eventually)
We cannot choose what to discern,
sentimental bleeds brutal
(we are dots in the world
amidst earthly pixilation)
choosing to not want
it all at once.

But what if we were bewildered always
nighttime crying darkness
morning smiling
all calling
hands flying above
pianoed peace
fingers faintly shaking
eyes averted seeking
where minds go—
that place of no contact
craved and reviled.

In search of somewhere love?
(I should tell you
how my sky breaks
before you make motion in me
know what it’s like waking up from a dream in a dream
fantasy blurred and windy).

I will wish you into perfect shape
I’ve wanted for my selfish self alone
and banish all ideas incapable
of making you feel blissfully at home.

I know I am full of mere pipe dreams
that might never near connect,
but if not orchestrated for this theme
what is worthwhile to protect?

You say there is no wrong direction
just a million places we might fall off,
but if you give me your full attention
I would be for you, what is soft.

Come and on my shoulder lay your tension
let me make all pain you feel unmentioned.

“Individuals have the ability to transform dominant discourses for libratory purposes.” – Lisa Delpit

We ask students
to become literate
in the discourse of their oppression
and scream when they will not
conform.

Rational, we remind ourselves
we are rational,
so we must scream
of frustration, not fury

at the need for a language
unknown, no dictionaries
to describe how we might communicate
amidst this messed
socialist experiment.
Test tubed children
as controls, teasing who might make it
to meaningful places
above others.

Success for all mantras along
as long as one is suspended between stairs
climbing somewhere
necessitating lost tracks
of before and after.

Can I arm you to do more
than scramble through clouds
on landscapes unmoving,
spiraling space allegiant to
burning sun?

Even buds compete for sun.
(So it is.)

But buds still come
towards spring –
inching along.

“Who threw the eraser?
Who tripped into whom? Who pushed?
Who apologized? Whose father left
this morning?”

Newspaper on the doorstep:
“Children’s Health Insurance Plan
Vetoed.”

Veto.

It could be a vocabulary word.
“Children, copy it down—
this is how your country’s failing
you. Look I can show you how
to read this nonsense.
There goes thirty five billion dollars
that might have fixed your glasses,
that you sit and bind with scotch tape,
or made medicine for your cough,
even helped you
not get pregnant.

But no, look, the caption
they too haven’t learned to work
together we are trying to teach you
to do better
to be better than this
acceptance.

What can I do but tow this line?
Tell you that the eraser means more
and that this grimace is not madness
making its way to my face
it is how we build a life
around what we believe.

“Make every decision one you mean,
And yes I’ll stop class to make sure
you are proud of what you chose,
yes, we’ll grow slower
but we’ll know
when someone offers us thirty five billion dollars
not to reject it.

The truth seems so obvious
if you let it be.

So,
now,
who threw the eraser?”