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My goodness, how many heartbreaks can one fit into a week, two weeks, this year? When I write, I hope you are well this week, I mean more than just physically healthy. I hope you are waking to and equipping yourself for the work of healing in front of us with the strength that you have as we move forward.
I'm answering a SWAGGER challenge to write a poem of farewell. Isn't it funny how sometimes a theme can pop up everywhere you look? Farewell seemed to this week.
I received a post from the Library of Congress Teachers Corner titled: Saying Farewell with Poetry at the End of this Unprecedented School Year by teacher Rebecca Newland. There's some wonderful classroom activities shared there--take a peek.
And, I heard this wonderful interview of Charles Waters on The Children's Book Podcast (#599) with Matthew Winner. In it, Charles reads, Release, from Dictionary for a Better World (Carolrhoda Books 2020). This poem is a farewell too.
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Latham, Irene, and Charles Waters. Dictionary for a Better World: Poems, Quotes, and Anecdotes from A to Z. Carolrhoda Books, 2020.
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I've had an image haunting me from when students and teachers parted that last Friday of school. I wish I had time for a proper farewell with the student in this poem and all my students.
Friday, March 13th
Our principal announced
school was closing
school was closing
for one month
a look of panic
spread over your face
A month? you mouthed
I looked at you, my stunned student
It’s OK
one month to make sure
no one gets sick
one month to make sure
no one gets sick
Miss, whole
month?
Just one month
We walked to front
doors together
tears in our eyes
tears in our eyes
burbling middle schoolers
a river around us
a river around us
yellow busses idling
doors open
waiting to take you home
waiting to take you home
doors open
doors open
yellow busses idled
burbling middle schoolers
burbling middle schoolers
a river around us
tears in our eyes
tears in our eyes
We walked to front
doors together
Just one month.
Miss a whole month?
Miss a whole month?
No one gets sick
One month to make sure
It’s OK
I looked at you, my stunned student
a month--you mouthed
Spread over your face
I looked at you, my stunned student
a month--you mouthed
Spread over your face
a look of panic
for one month
school was closing
our principal
announced
school was closing
(c) Linda Mitchell -- draft
For more poems of farewell please visit
Heidi Mordhorst
Catherine Flynn
Molly Hogan
and our host for this week's round-up Margaret at Reflections on the Teche
I only could experience this through my imagination from being a teacher & with my grandchildren, Linda. The loss is heartbreaking and your poem, the repetition reads like a shout, a plea, to not be.
ReplyDeleteThis is the year of unresolved moments. And heartache. So much heartache. In Australia, we still have 2 terms of school left - so we don't have that same bereft feeling. I hadn't factored it in, for you all. Hugs. (I type hugs, but there again is one more thing that we are missing... Mayhaps it should be, 'Hearts' - for hearts shared.♡)
ReplyDeleteUnresolved indeed. Sometimes a reverso does exactly that, resolves two perspectives, balances the equation, solves for x. But not here--here both sides, both hearts are vividly bereft. Something about the buses idling... That little trauma we all experienced got covered over fast by everything else that came, but I don't think it's healed, do you?
ReplyDeleteSo much is unresolved and unknown. You capture a sort of "shell shock" with this poem and I kept imagining that student's face. I imagine that's what's been haunting to you as well. I agree with Heidi that the idling buses are such a compelling detail. Powerful reverso!
ReplyDeleteLinda, thank you for sharing Charles' poem, which gets me every time! I love his intereview with Matthew, too. And your poem is very much full of the disbelief that has flavored so many days of late. Thank you for sharing. xo
ReplyDeleteHeartbreaking poem, so well done -- and a reverso to boot. I can imagine the scene so vividly, hear the buses idling, the look and feelings of shock . . .
ReplyDeleteYour poem gave me chills, Linda. The reverso form is subtle, yet powerfully reinforces the emotionality. Thinking about what the situation was for this student that they were so devastated by the news nearly brings me to tears.
ReplyDeleteOnce again, I got distracted and never sent out my reply. I spotted your poem as a reverso right away. It holds the enormity of the quarantine closedown of school and the impact on all. I just heard that one of the Long Island districts are considering opening in January because of the space problem. Life is more upside down than usual and that is why we write.
ReplyDeleteThinking of you, your family, your friends and your students during this time. Keep up the good fight on behalf of education, Linda. Super proud to know you!
ReplyDeleteYour reverso poem is so honest and brutal, Linda. Thank you for writing it and sharing it. Your line, "a look of panic" pretty much sums up 2020 so far...ugh.
ReplyDeleteWouldn't it be wonderful if we could rewind this year to January when there was still an opportunity to stem the outbreak? Your reverso captures all the uncertainty and anguish we still feel. Thank you for sharing this lovely poem.
ReplyDeleteI like that you chose a reverso for this poem, the lines flow like difficult ripples in and out from one end to the other, it adds to the disconnect that you, your students and so many others were feeling, and perhaps still are. Thanks for sharing your poem, Charles strong and sensitive poem, and the podcast.
ReplyDeleteSo good. I need to write about my last day with my kids in person. <3
ReplyDeleteWhat a wonderful topic for a reverso, especially in this era where time seems recursive somehow, curling back in on itself, echoing strangely in both good and bad ways. Thanks for sharing both these poems, Linda. I love:
ReplyDeleteWe walked to front doors together
tears in our eyes
burbling middle schoolers
a river around us
Beautiful...
Stunning.
ReplyDeleteI'm thankful that my last day with my students before quarantine was filled with joy. We did Poetry Friday. We played together. That whole-class game of spoons is one of my favorite memories.