“so can these shoes take me to
who I was before
I was stabbing my sticks into
a vulnerable earth
and I can almost out run you
and those stalking memories
did I somehow become you
without realizing” + Tori Amos
Here we are again, on the edge of summer, tipping ourselves from heat slop into the crisp hands of never-winter, the New England promise of broken trees slicing dead skies while slowly fading humidity chokes us. Down into the pit of earthly ruin we go.
I haven’t written in a while.
How to say: the world has turned upside down?
How to say: no one wants to see from beneath a new leaf?
How to say: I wish the dog days of summer meant dogs scarfed down the sun to make new ways?
Somehow in the midst of this I am supposed to be an English teacher. Black Lives Matter, Covid-19, the election, the faint scent of time ending. I remember being stuck inside for hours and days teaching via Google Meets and knowing I was not alone, but feeling horribly alone regardless.
If we are all shouldering the weight of the world, well, what do we do with it? It escapes in jabs and snips and bites at each other.
Yeah, I got a full time job. 9th and 10th grade ELA. We will be reading Fahrenheit 451, Dear Martin, Things Fall Apart, and possibly The Lord of the Flies unless/until we kick it out.
I find I can’t bring myself to move. To summon up the courage to get going. I feel like an impostor. I’m worried I’ll be discovered as such.
Wishing I could be more brilliant and articulate, like a glacier, or a star.
over the bridge 