The first of the two poems is an example of the struggles I latch onto (latch onto me) on a daily basis – ones I cannot seem to shake even coming upon my 28th year.
The second is an ode to my students and how transparent I have become with them.
“Features of a Superlative Type Day”
It is one where my mind does not
succumb to itself, the little feelings won’t become
giant rubber-band-like structures which
fix themselves upon delicate movements
of the tongue.
(tending to squeeze out not only sanity
but focus of the eyes
but simple happiness
It is one where my body does not
hurt. My muscles won’t ache from lack of
attention – as I have given them
all that they deserve. Deep holds –
three breaths each –
centered upon a spot on the Earth.
Lungs can live up to their potential
if you would just give them the chance.
It is one where the perfectly painted
is no pretense – simply an extension
of my depth and desire. Beauty is for the self
and not you, or you, or you, or you (plural, world).
It is one where I lie my soul at night
to sleep fully and blankly. Not dream of
messages on train tracks;
Not restlessly squirm for the coming hours existence;
Not rise and fall from bed to room to room.
To wake up again
with a not so perfect day.
To live tomorrow’s day and think –
at least once –
“Upon Hearing a Story Which Silenced Them All (If Only for a Second or Two)”
I’m sorry I always choose the sad stories,
I tell them.
One asks, Are you okay? In the way
only teenagers can – make a joke, yet
still sound genuinely interested in
the answer. (In the way both curious
I tell him, You know me well enough to know
the answer to that one, kid.
The sad stories are the best stories.
To hold a story
in our hands and ears
To know that our own
tears are true – and the same –
as the tears on the track
on the page
on the cheeks of a child a world away.
I’m sorry I always choose the sad stories.
But aren’t the sad stories why we keep on?