1

It is not
easy.
It does not
comfort.

My arms are full of worry and pain,
Holding my breath and waiting for her to snap.

Five months later, it is not
Like riding a bike.

She does not
Mold herself to my spent body,
Relax in the crook of my arm,
Eagerly press her lips to the life-giving flow.

This milk is not
The perfect food--
Instead a toxic concoction making her
Arch, writhe,
Explode, tear, bleed.

It is not easy.
It is not best.
It is not what I hoped.

I am not ready to let go.

Opening

So

Much

Depends upon

A chainsaw, a pole,

Toes flexing inside boots,

Ladder bending against tree.

Limb frozen, fighting the cut

Rope tossed, knots tied, human

Limbs now ripping off tree's.

The watermelon___________ crack

Of wood loosing_________ wood.

It gives one last___________ thud.

We drag it to a______________ pile

Of other missives____________torn

From their bodies.___________ Our

Backyard opens a____________door

For the shed so much depends upon.

Labor without Production

Never to live on the page.
Words waiting
Ideas rioting
Pondered down to the depths
If researched relentlessly
You will never be
Work of genius.
A watched pot never boils.

Born This Way?

Brown-haired,

Brown-eyed,

Bundle of joy

You were—

Born this way.

Big sister,

Hard worker,

Dedicated musician

You were—

Born this way.

You played

The piano at four.

You were

The star of the high school musical.

You smiled

And you laughed with your Catholic school friends.

You admired

The toils of your parents to make a better life for themselves—for you.

You earned

Early admission at one of the top performing arts schools in the world.

You wrote

An eighty page thesis there.

You were—

Born this way.

But now you are

Trying so hard to convince us that

Dropping out,

Doing drugs (a lot then, a little now),

Bleaching and dying,

Baring almost all,

Decorating your body with abnormalities,

Adorning your product with jarring images,

Trying so hard,

You are,

To show you were

Born that way.

Gaga,

You’re not fooling anyone.

You were

More of a superstar

When you were born

Than now.

Monday Night Poem

Fabulous shame—

Bitter taste of words unspoken,

Burning gaze of expectation

Never fulfilled.

Coals of regret singeing my lungs—

With every sizzle, knowing

I didn’t let anyone down.

Rotten peace—

Words set free like doves

To be marked for hunters’ sport and

Shot through with a million jagged metal bits.

Twisting,

Writhing,

Tumbling from the sky.

Set free to die.

Snakes on a Bus?

A friend of mine from school just introduced me to this blog created by a couple of his friends. It's like an amateur Onion for educators. Check out the bus driver post especially.

Looking for Amazima

The departure of our dear friend Chris has brought with it an unexpected result . . . it feels like I'm a balloon whose tether has suddenly been cut, allowing me to float up above my life and consider it from a perspective I haven't had in years.
After I graduated college, life felt limited and limitless. Move to Montana? Why not. Search for any old job to tide me over? Why not. Apply to teach in one school way back in the South? Why not. Little to risk, little to lose.
Then, with the hire in that school way back in the South, suddenly came this sense of calling and purpose. Move back. Figure out the massive task of teaching in a community that seems to not really see the point of education. Build relationships, show unconditional love, keep my head above water in a place that would really rather not have any of this, thank you. But I was called. I had prayed that God would make it happen if He indeed wanted me here, and here I was, prayers answered. Meet my best friend and love of my life, marry him, move into our patchwork house. Calling solidifed and confirmed.
But suddenly I find myself 4 years into what now feels less like a calling and more like a career. In addition to that, balloon Meg is these days constantly bumping into people, blogs, newsletters, natural disasters, etc., all of which are making me question the very calling that seemed so clear 4 years ago. Disciples like Katie call me to remember Jesus' warning to count the cost of following Him, but the cost of my life right now seems low to nonexistent. We are both young, both free of obligations (besides the house, of course) . . . limitless and limited, once again. Where to go? What to do? What is it that He wants from us? What cost does He want from us?
Of course, both of us agree that we can't think of any place where we could do any more good than where we are already. We speak the language of our students. We are trained to teach them. They are transported to us everyday. We are not dependent on others to support us in these difficult financial times. The needs of those in our community are great, and we have easy avenues to build relationships with them and the means to love them. I cannot help this feeling of restlessness, though. We will see where it leads.