Hickory Smoked Turkey

No Hands On the way back from the library, I see him in my rearview mirror.   A red windbreaker, white hair, and faded jeans slowly move towards me.   The man sits upright on a ten speed, two triumphant arms in the air.   Like a child, he continues to bike past Dougherty Street and down the hill towards Lake Tomahawk.   I watch his achievement until he bikes out of sight.   I am the only witness to this small act.   On the way back to school, I drive towards the park, hoping to see the biker again, but he is gone.   Probably off to do some other trick of life.    I pull into the parking lot at school, walk into the classroom, and sit on the floor next to a student who is nine.   “I saw the coolest thing on my break today,” I tell her.   Her eyes light up, sure that I have a magical story to tell.   Something with punch, but I only have a lesson learned.   “I saw an older gentleman ride his bike today with no ha...

Untitled We stand in the dark kitchen. Next to me  you brush your teeth. We are silent.  We watch the window, the street lamps, and the sky. Clouds hang, touch the point of mountains that turn blue in the evening. Sporadic lightning turns the dry sky white, not as a warning, but a prompt.

Bookend sky, day, night. Same mountains, pale clouds, distance. Rest for what is done.

Start with the table smell of rye, dill, and coffee. My grandparents' home.

  I celebrate the beginning of a new year in August, not January.  A new school year is full of hopes and resolutions for me.  Some of these return every year; my resolution to be more patient, present, and mindful in the classroom.  I want to help students find what inspires and excites them, to greet each student, each day, with a fresh open heart.  In preparation, I go to bed early, take deep breaths, slow down, and trust that everything will be ok.  The doubts, however, are also always there.  Regularly I wonder if I made a lesson interesting enough, if I nagged the students all day to tidy up, or if I overlooked a sad face in the classroom.   In more ways than I can count, I am extremely lucky to have landed at the school where I teach.  Our small school is comprised of teachers and staff who genuinely care not only about the well-being of their students, but all of the students and their fellow co-workers.  I'm finishing up my Mo...

To curate a creative life, please include the following: Coffee stained books Stacks of paper and notebooks Mismatched towels, dishes, sheets, and silverware Anxiety Three or more full bookcases Two dresses that you never wear Secondhand furniture and clothes Handwritten and typed letters from friends A dog, cat, or hamster Trees A bowl of lemons Pens The art of friends hanging on the wall Large windows to stand in front of Notes left all over the apartment with lines of poetry, questions, recipes, and lists written on them; reminders to keep going

Median Pull That median, where I thought I'd end up      east and the actual place where I landed      west is what holds me today, into the night.