Poetry Speaks: "The Writer" by Me

Thoughts on school, exhaustion, and love

Photo by Element5 Digital on Unsplash

Thanks to the back-to-school busyness in my life at the moment, I'm recycling a post I wrote a year ago. I decided to reshare this post before the school shootings that took place in Georgia and Maryland this week. My heart is heavy for those lost, those traumatized, and those who are grieving. America loves its guns more than it loves its children, something I won't ever be able to understand.

When things feel overwhelming, I remind myself I can only do what's before me. I can keep showing up, caring about kids, and encouraging them to use their voices. Whatever is done in love will remain.

After a lovely summer break, I returned to my job as a high school library clerk two weeks ago. I've worked in education for 12 years, and I don't remember a school year starting with so much chaos and exhaustion. There are several reasons for that, but one is that I work in five buildings, going to a different school each day. I'm blessed with great coworkers and some beautiful library spaces, but this daily rotation is hard. Each school has a different culture and expectations, and the constant change is draining. Even so, I love my job.

Earlier this week, I was one of the guests of honor at an event celebrating a foundation through which I've received several grants. One of the projects this foundation consistently funds is the multicultural book club I help facilitate at one of my schools. During the event, I was asked to give an impromptu speech about the grants and how I've used them. I was thankful for the opportunity to talk about those things, but even more so, I was grateful for a chance to brag about the kids I got to know during the book clubs.

As hard as my job can sometimes be, the students are the constant goodness. I love working with teenagers. I got to share with the grant committee that the kids who participate in the book club are wise, constantly surprising me with the depth of their understanding. I said how much it means to some of our kids that they get a brand-new book to keep and weekly snacks to enjoy. Sharing my experiences reminded me of the importance of books, libraries, and reading. All three build connections, deepen wisdom, and allow us to become better humans.

When school started, I read an Instagram post by the brilliant Kate Bowler. She offered a blessing for the start of the new school year. These closing words have stayed with me since I read them:

As you write on those
fresh new calendars
may you trust that your plans
are a lot like magic ink.

Much may seem to
disappear into obscurity,
but whatever is done in love
will remain.

Love is everything. I've had to let go of some things because of my work schedule, but I keep reminding myself that while some of the stuff I used to do was nice, showing up with love for the kid in front of me is the most important thing.

These thoughts are what led to this week's poem. I got an image in my head of a girl just starting to find her voice. As I thought about the young people I serve and the power of literature to connect and shape us, I wrote this piece.

“The Writer”

There you are, staring in the mirror, 
black eyeliner drawn so thick, 
the only way you know to do it. 
The crop top makes a star 
of your stomach, though you pinch
some baby fat, angry it’s betrayed you.
You slip on the Vans where you scrawled,
“Married to amazement.”
Sweet Vanilla Dreams is spritzed
all over, like a first-day-of-school baptism.

You’re a woman now, even if
you like a nightlight, so you walk
like a woman, head held high.
You bleed like a woman and rage
like a woman, yet loneliness 
haunts you. I wish you knew 
how loved you’ll be when you’re 
twenty-two and thirty-five 
and sixty-four and eighty-three. 
But someday is not today.

Today you eat lunch alone
on the toilet. Today you need
to be seen, so you write a poem 
on the bathroom stall door,
Plath’s words burning a hole
inside your soul: I am your opus.
You’re uncertain what this means,
but “Lady Lazarus” convinced you
to pick up a pen and pour out
your heart onto the page.

The words you write 
will become your friends,
your family, and the path toward
self-awareness you don’t have
at fifteen. Keep filling pages
with stanzas and sonnets 
and crossed-out rhymes.
Listen to the teacher who tells you
you’re good, that you’ve got 
something to offer the world.

She’s right. In forty years,
a girl will wait in line to see you.
At the front, she’ll grab your hand
across the table and say,
“Your work saved me.”
And you’ll look into her eyes
and remember the moments
you saved yourself, one word
at a time. Know that one day soon
you’ll find yourself and love her, thinking,

“There you are.”

Photo by Marcos Paulo Prado on Unsplash

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Are there educators who helped shape you? Are there poems or books or stories that helped you become who you are? I’d love to hear your thoughts. Please share this post if it resonates with you. Thanks for reading!