We sat in rows in classrooms. We laughed and squirmed and raised our hands.
Pretty girls, awkward boys. Pretty boys, boyish girls. Dervish whirls and eyes.
Teacher, teacher, tell us true. You have seen us, bright and blue.
We were meek and we were wise. You taught us, and we taught you.
Some were lies, some were true. Teacher, teacher. Teacher, teacher, teacher.
I don’t resolve, but I do feel, once again, a time has come for me to write less, speak less, publish less, and bide in silence in between. It’s a good feeling, not a fretful one — a winter feeling, when raindrops cling to limbs, and the library’s darkest corners yield the clearest, brightest gems. I surrender to it without expectation or plan. Whatever it holds is good. In the meantime, let’s all be listening. Let’s all be kind. Thank you.
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Categories: A Few More Scratches