here's to the way

for every word i don't say-
the suggestion toward hope i meant to give-
i wish i could see past myself far enough to draw you in.
the way months turn into years-
and the way you waited on the other side of the line-
the way you'd repeat what i didn't hear-
and the way what was ours was mostly mine.

it's a relative term you've only seen one side of
a line you can cross but not uncross
a knowing you can't get rid of with time-
did it change you?
do you wake up every day with a question on your mind?

close

to close

to release is longer
and not so
close

or

Retreat and return.
Return and retreat.
The Exit and The Welcome
indicating home
something fixed
outside or inside
(or. or.)
door.
a step is a choice.
The wide world or
very familiar rooms.

for me

violin strings move the moment to catharsis
every time.

goodbye wave

how many people washed away with that wave?
how much money and time and carefully arranged furniture and files filed
in
alpha
beti
cal

order?

how many
wave
goodbye
without
an
answer
for
why?

i feel it all

someday, when i am being interviewed by Michael Silverblatt,
i wonder if i will look back on this day when, driving home from work,
it seemed so real i could taste it.
i will try to ignore the annoying nasal of his voice, because he really does ask good questions.

a sense of urgency and a sense of taking my time
both.

i feel it all. i feel it all.

turning and turning

Yeats believed that history worked in cone shaped, widening spirals. A major, world changing event would take place that would change everything. Intensity. Passion. Conviction. All of humanity responding intensely to the new way of seeing the world (i.e. Christ's life and it's effect). But over time, the focus would get lost somehow. Intensity would wane. There would be a forgetting and a loss of focus. A restlessness

until at some point the focus would get so far removed from the source, that history would be ripe for some new epiphany to take its place. Some revelation. Something different, or the same under the guise of new. To bring about order again. To bring about a sense of purpose and focus.

Don't hearts work that way, too? After awhile, we lack focus. After awhile, we don't remember quite what it was we were centering around. After awhile, it takes some great event to deliver a sense of purpose. Passion. Conviction.

To return us to some source.

(don't they?)

these are some things

i get to learn:
sometimes my job feels like a fantastic book club. we learn from each other. this week, Their Eyes Were Watching God.

Insightful Student A: "But why did Janie wait 20 years to say how she felt? That bothers me. Doesn't that make it her fault in a way?"

and a few days, few chapters (few lifetimes) later...

Insightful Student B: "This is the first time Janie is actually listening to her gut and trusting herself. And standing up for herself. She's stronger than before because now, when she feels like something isn't right with Tea Cake, she says something and she doesn't feel bad about how she feels."
Insightful Student C: "And that's why Tea Cake is different from Logan or Jody. Even though they fight, they're learning how to communicate. With Jody, she was never brave enough to stand up for her feelings, and he never valued her feelings anyway."

i get to teach:
walked by Ignorant Student A's desk and noticed that she had taken another girl's quiz from the turn-in box (to copy from). I took the other girl's work off her desk. Gave ISA a death stare, and continued my rounds.

A few minutes later, I watch from across the room as ISA goes back to the inbox, fumbles around noticeably, trying to act as if she has understandable and acceptable intentions, and grabs another quiz from the box and takes it back to her seat.

I walk over. Grab paper.
Me: "No. No, no, no. I don't know what you think you're doing, but it's not cool." Walk away.

ISA: "But, uhhh... Ms. I... isn't this w;kjdajiebelivkemalie (nonsensicle babbling, trying to make it sound like there is a justifiable reason for what she was doing)

Me: "Stop it. Stop. Don't try to cover it up. Just do better. Do better."

I realized upon waking

Perhaps it's not quite time for sober dreams.

(but there have been these moments... These moments of transcendence in all this where I can view it all from a great distance. Such calm. Clarity. Grace, not from some outside place, but encoded in my core. Where even the confusion seems simple enough. Where I can hear my own song so clearly. Where just knowing that I am singing at all becomes this precious, important thing. Louder and louder and breaking through some block that was but is no more. Listen and you'll hear it. Try to understand.)