when silence breeds discontent
and critics ensnare your feet
in a morass of minutiae
amplify your truth

when gossip makes
a mischief of reality
stand your ground
command all energy
toward positivity

never relent because
others seek to mold you
in their stale likeness
never submit to quietude
when you are gifted
a poetic voice

It's your obligation
to subjugate negation
and contort vexation
into your own narration
toward personal salvation
Your thoughts, your creation
only your fingers, the translation

Never submit to false authority
lies, malice do not signify you
hold your head high
Look to the stars
and dream in words
again

If we can restore vibrancy to color
stripping layers of time
to render art new
then can we lift sound particles
from memories
laid down decades before
dab a pen over words
slandering our hearts
eliminate critical noises
that chastise
til all we recognize
is a blank slate of static
where WE select
rhythm and pace     
            
compliments      feeding our lives' diorama  

                 beliefs              entangled    
                                    between      
                                              heartbeats

we become the artist
         the symphony playing remastered tunes

Stay Strong    
                                  You are Valuable
And, most importantly,

           You Deserve to be Loved

silence scooped into tributaries
navigating thoughts by gondola
we glide beneath her Bridge of Sighs
tasting the acrid breath of lost words
into a palazzo where ideas congregate
exhumed from brackish waters
poems glistening between our oars'  
slippery blades at midnight

A student stayed online today
  to ask an earnest question:

               "Will this pandemic have a lasting
                 impact upon society, or will it, too,
                 be forgotten like the Spanish Flu?"

I hadn't thought of a reply just then;
instead, I stared through the screen
and spoke from my heart.

"I think everyone in school right now
will be fundamentally shaped
by this magnanimous event;
in prior generations, it was world wars
and Vietnam, for me it was 9/11,
but this year's tragedy will become
a fixture in your collective memory."

"My hope is that your generation
will rekindle society's compassion
and generosity,
that you will grow
from these months
of social isolation
to listen more closely,
engage in meaningful conversations
honor older generations,
your schools,
and the value
of a hard day's work."

                            "You mean to be a more kind,      
                             respectful, and responsible  
                             generation," he said smiling.

"Yes, and to show those
older and younger
what it means to be enriched
by hardship,
wise through self reflection,
humbled by uncertainties
and unknowns."

lying in bed
the day cradled by darkness
drifting back through wisps
of who I'd been at thirty
baby suckling my *******
workday weary and money starved
yet proud of a life carved out
in fruit trees and a hammock
swaying beneath pines

such a long streaked memory
I crawl upon hands and knees
through the portal to now
recognizing that every blessing,
every tear stained disappointment
all the years of wiping down
studying, providing, enduring
have proffered this moment
an opportunity
       to step beyond
   the mind's confinement

to risk safety for beauty
anxiety for understanding
   to become again
a child of wonder
sculpting her future
in the clay of stars

tomorrow threads a new day
desks pulled out into the hallway
masks adorned in silence
speaking with sincerity to students  
I might never meet face to face
yet their hearts pour out
in my dreams, making me long to hear
their endless conversations
for once a teacher
I  cannot sway my heart
from caring, and so I don the mask
and when they come to class next week
the focus becomes their learning
less upon a nightly fear for my health
for giving is our greatest gift
may self concerns be eclipsed
by love for the gift of teaching
this is my greatest wish