Parched

She perches
atop the hummingbird feeder
at my kitchen window

Mama Bluebird

haven’t seen her in a while
she keeps a low profile

when new fledglings
are about

I think she’s playing defense
watching me
watching her
(bluebirds are
ferocious guardians)

until I see
her open beak

she doesn’t close it

I’ve never seen
such behavior
before

from any bird

I look it up

she’s suffering
from the heat

trying to
cool off

birds can’t sweat

she stays on this perch
watching me
watching her

I sense a plea…

I take a cup

run a little water
at the kitchen sink

carry it out
into the drought

(she flies away)

pour it on the top
of the hummingbird feeder

(it’s really meant
to be an ant moat)

and as soon as I return
to the kitchen

I see she’s back
sipping
sipping
sipping

she stays a good while

perched
parched

until she’s refreshed enough
to close her beak again

and fly

maybe back
to help her children

all I know
is that my soul

(sometimes just as parched)

rejoices
that I was able
to provide

this little oasis

when I have felt
so utterly unable

to ease
the longsuffering

of others

Thank you
Mama Bluebird

for refreshing
me

******

with thanks to Two Writing Teachers for the Tuesday Slice of Life Story Challenge

For love of reading

with thanks to Anna J. Small Roseboro, today’s Open Write host at Ethical ELA, for inviting teachers to write poems of reflection on the past school year and projections for next…my thoughts came out this way, and so I’m calling it a prose poem.

For Love of Reading

Reading and writing were the great loves
of my childhood…for birthdays and Christmas,
I wanted books. And more books. I never thought
about them as keys to unlock life’s doors. In retrospect
I see that books were my lifeline, keeping me afloat
in a muddy sea of existence. I would read and find myself
in another world, another life. I didn’t think about reading
as amassing riches in my mind. My family didn’t have wealth
but I was rich, rich, rich in books. They were my
greatest treasures.

I never planned to be a reading teacher. I didn’t pursue
the vocation; it pursued me. My professional role changes
every year depending on funding and the current trend
for helping children learn to read. For many the struggle
is great. The battles waged by the Educational-Powers-That-Be
are great. Year to year the sands shift, the tides of research turn,
blame is passed, and verbal artillery is fired.
I have served in ranks wearing armor that didn’t fit me,
using approaches that didn’t dovetail with desired outcomes…
furthermore, we are not talking about war.
We are talking about what children need.

Every so often, the winds of war abate and through the smoke
blows a bit of fresh breeze. Let us name it Opportunity.
It comes offering me a chance to recruit volunteers
from the community to read with students each day. It comes
with a whole new library that I inventoried and archived
in preparation for next fall, a wealth of beautiful books
that are windows and mirrors for our young students
to pick from, with their volunteer readers. It comes
with taking donations of books to give to students
to keep at home. It comes with redecorating
a neglected space in the building, with an astounding gift
of bright new seating from the PTA, to make this space
special for our students. This is a sacred space.
Here people will give of themselves to others,
here relationships and lives will be built, here love will be born…

My reading soul rejoices.

*******

with thanks also to Two Writing Teachers for the Tuesday Slice of Life Story Challenge
—writers need community. ❤