Monday, February 06, 2006


Monday morning

before we even get to the classroom
when I've only said good morning, kindly
Jawanda stomps her foot and rolls her eyes
Jawanna yells at boys across the hall
I feel worn down by months
of the same simple battles

In the moment
I want them to listen
want them to care
want them to learn

but you can see from the slits of their eyes
to the shift of their little girl hips--
they are going to do
what they wish.

So I lose my cool

Count down from 5
give warnings
write names on the board
and know that this,
my first pawn move,
begins a long, long day.

in the moment
I forget

11-year olds
hold up their sturdy shoulders
like armor
to hide a deep, deep heart

the little girl


Anonymous kathleen said...

you see the good.
that is what makes you
such a good teacher.

well...that isn't the
ONLY reason.
: )


7:38 PM  
Anonymous shelley said...

coincidentally...i wrote a poem in writer's workshop this past Monday, but mine was titled "Monday Mourning". I guess we were all wishing we were some place else.

8:20 PM  

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