TOI,TOI, TOI


the children take the stage
all full of hope and innocence
finding home in their bodies
 the voices of others
my child amongst them
"there are no small parts"
         and that is what he wants
         		to fade into the background
         	singing and dancing townsperson
         			and he is splendid
        						each show
         								my heart stops to watch this child
        								 this young man
         they walk onto the stage and BECOME someone new
         								someone else
i'll be honest and say
        this is no oscar worthy performance on my child’s behalf
         no more emmys will enter our home
         his voice is that of an angel
 but maybe not grammy worthy
being a mother and poet is hard
         where does truth draw a line
         where does reality intercede in poetry
         where does it all end and begin
is this all simply a callback
 a coda
         a return to the beginning of the play
the children take the stage
my son amongst them
trying on new personas
learning new emotions
TOI, TOI, TOI
i am here for it



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The other day my son's school had a Shelter-In-Place due to a person brandishing a weapon nearby. I have dealt with these before, but as a teacher, NOT a parent. I am much more calm and collected when I am in charge of students in such a situation. As for the jackass that kidnapped his girlfriend at gunpoint - I am very glad he was caught and, as far as I know, no one got physically hurt in this incident, but I have choice words for him. As a parent.

Below are two videos: 1: The poem I wrote for this week. 2: Dar William's song "Flinty Kinda Woman" which kept coming to mind when I was journalling, thinking, or writing about this. There is also the poem I wrote, in letters.





(For the record. I don't condone violence. Not violence towards the innocent or the guilty. But this song does speak to me. Having worked with so many people who have been hurt so badly, in so many ways, this song sometimes gets played very, very loudly in my house or in my head.)



              pupa		

we wait
stunted conversation
hot chamomile tea with honey in front of us
	hot enough to burn tongues
	just too hot to hold
		but we do

the police perimeter is fuzzy 	
	but i live nearby 
	i walk my son to school
	i pick him up on foot
	
       i don’t know if i should leave my house

she sits with me
	tear streaked face
	we try not to worry
	to be rational
	to know the odds of harm are slim

but

our children are five years old
five years innocent
	their hugs are tackles
	their worries do not involve	
		domestic disputes, kidnapping, and guns
	their knowledge should not have to  include 
		
		shelter
		    in 
		 place

	the suspect is in custody
	there is no longer a police perimeter

happy to see us and innocent they run to us
	allowed freedom
	allowed safety
	allowed to open their classroom curtains and see again
they are ready to go home
	we are ready to take them
	to wrap them in our arms
		keep them in this pupa stage
		between caterpillar and butterfly
		between innocent and worldly

i don’t want him to be naive
but i don’t want him to know about domestic disputes 
	and kidnapping at gunpoint
      i want his innocence to last just a little bit longer

butterflies are beautiful but only live for a month

can i keep him in this chrysalis
protect him from the world of anger and violence

we watch as their wings emerge

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