(a poem)
 
 

School You

Sixty-three pedagogies

Cramped in a cabinet

Quick collapsing when

Jorge scratches at raw rough scalp,

Taking what he finds there, placing it in his mouth

Head to hand to tongue

You, Jorge, are the subject of this sentence.

Chew is the verb––chews, chewing, chewed

That was the winter when 14 grandmothers died some of them

Twice, when Peter had the flu and so did Lou, who

Smoking in the breezeway bumped glance, then hip, then tongue with Marta

Who could have passed the class

Hear them cough while

Melissa sits, slit-skirt, bra straps like spider strands

Fixing each pink globe a patch

For pain,

On her bony upper arm and

Eyes wide, dilating

She pushes past academic panic.

Saying she’ll research peach

“Color increases ardor.” (Victoria’s Secret Catalogue p. 19)

Author unknown

To Jacob spitting wet blackberries against the freshly painted wall

Why?

Let the question contain its forgiveness and the breath

Be the beat that reminds us to

Breathe

When Dr. Rita wants Jorge jailed for slobber and

Barb demands the sanctity of the faculty bathroom and

I want Kathy to go away––again

Go away, Kathy, because I am tired, and Jacob has died

Stop here for a moment,

Counsels Angela, for this recite names and incantations

Light candles at dawn

May one flame carry us forward, then, from this moment

To the next

Balm for want and weariness and

Let this be the lesson we need                                                                                  

March, 2005