On Some Fine Day

On Some Fine Day


A small gift has never hurt anyone,

A woman once wrote.

There are exceptions

Microbes can be a bitch

Though maybe I am a small gift to them?

Once I knew a guy

Who was a day or two past crying in his beer
He said
Where the body goes the mind will follow,
Somewhat reluctantly
Even good friends finally fail

I’m trying to learn with you

to appreciate 

This pain we share

separately

Sleep is the gift

Of separation and retreat
Side stepping the incoming
Waking up to access the damage
Guided by the pulse of change
Only scoundrels dare to complain and rail

What’s the point?

Is it the celebration

Of the transient and imperfect?

I celebrate and revere my atoms and yours

Such magic stuff
Small gifts indeed
That allows us to borrow and to be

And on some fine day
I will turn the mirror around
Having seen enough
And focus on the stars.

"Wabi-sabi nurtures all that is authentic by
acknowledging three simple realities: nothing lasts, nothing is finished, and

nothing is perfect.” -Wiki

The Lesson, a Cautionary Tale

As if there’s something they could learn from me,
I’d open the door to my classroom
And the suction it created
Often blew my doors off
Heart on the sleeve
Is not good advice for a teacher
Many a pedagogue (and cardiologist) will tell you.

The goal might have been
A certain homeroom homeostasis
Energy in, energy out
Tidal
Drawing from greater powers
Rather than the tsunami
A rush and flush
That swept me hollow
Empathy
Was getting the best of me.

Maybe the best ones
Aka the survivors
Could create some sort of
Emotional semi-permeable barrier
A stasis system
Some sort of wear-in conditioner
That allows them to give
Without being consumed?

Others
Tired and tried
Had calendars with Xs on the days
Mirroring the glaze in their eyes
Slumping and stooped
In toxic teacher’s rooms
Where triage was performed daily
10:40-12:10.

I only had so much to give
And then that too gave out.
I held out my hand
Though sometimes it was almost empty.