Teachers

There are two statements that I am proud to make: 

first, I am a mom, and secondly (and no less proud), 

 I was a teacher.

Before I taught, like the rest of the uninformed,

I thought it’d be easy; it was talking

in 40 minute bouts, with summers off

and all school holidays. All the kids would be

Like me: motivated, well-behaved, and ready.

No.

There were some, of course, but

Far outnumbered by the ones who

Didn’t care, didn’t want, didn’t have time

For education in any form.

Who were simply serving their sentence:

No structure, no modifiers, no grammar, no rules.

No.

We didn’t teach English, or math, or history, or chemistry.

We taught kids. We taught communities.

We taught living and getting along

And how to slog through the unknown swamps, 

impenetrable forests of expectations, and endless

pursuits of someone else’s standards.

No.

This is our legacy: not certificates

Or degrees, or awards, 

But people—getting through, getting by,

Living their best lives, continuing

To live, and to learn, 

Morning Walk

 I have a plan. 

We're going on a tour this fall, and there will be walking. 

A LOT of walking, by my usual couch-potato-rooted-to-the-sofa standards. 

And so, to prepare, I'm going to walk all summer, each day. 

Inside, outside, rain or shine, 

up stairs, down stairs, maybe even (horrors!) at a gym. 

I refuse to be one of those laggard geezers, 

hobbling along behind the group, 

breathing hard, and dropping, exhausted, 

at every pause in the tour. 

I am better than that. Or so I say.

And so, this morning, with a hint of cloud in the sky, 

I got up before sunrise and walked to the river. 

A single bright line on the horizon promised morning, 

and, for a few minutes, 

the bicyclist paused, 

the runners stopped, 

the ducks on the water turned eastward, 

and even the trees rustled their appreciation.

Creation paused momentarily to watch the daily miracle: 

sunrise.