Write about the way you feel around us and write at least 10 lines about what you learned about us after being around us for so long. Each line starting with: I learned …

—Idelis

 

In these 8 years I taught at The Care Center …

 

— Maria D.

 

In Eight Years Here I Learned

for Maria D. and Idelis

 

That phat isn’t a weight issue

and hooked up doesn’t have anything to do with connecting telephones, fastening skirts or hanging pictures.

I learned that when a student talks about her ‘moms’ she isn’t commenting on anyone’s sexual preference.

I learned to always assume the best

and that a sneer might be a smile that lost its way.

I learned there are many ways to do things right

and what looks like a mistake can be a saving grace.

I learned to love chaos

a little.

I learned what a fresh tattoo looks like

and the artistic potential in a bottle of nail polish.

I learned about pichones, bochinche and bachata.

I learned not to say “cállate!” in polite company

I learned that a poem written in 20 minutes by a young woman under 20 can go deeper and burn brighter than anything some dead Brit wrote 400 years ago

I learned everyone is a poet, even the girl in the basketball shorts and tank top who loomed over me and growled, “I won’t.”

I learned that no can mean maybe, and maybe can mean please believe that I can.

I learned to talk less and listen more.

I learned that my best teachers were sitting right in front of me.

 

 

— Tzivia

Write a Haiku poem about an experience in The Care Center – good or bad.

— Yailine

 

 

5-9-6 Haiku

for Yailine and Anita’s Class

 

Haiku masters grant

more syllables for deep emotion

goodbye storms in my throat

 

 

— Tzivia

 

 

 

Haiku for Yaileen

 

Along with the breeze

A van arrives. Babies cry.

Mothers here to learn.

 

— Tzivia

Write about something you dislike the most. Start each sentence off with I Didn’t Like.

— Ashley

 

I Didn’t Like

for Ashley

 

I didn’t like students crumpling pieces of paper with budding poems struggling on the line,

or students refusing to use both sides of the page – I could hear the rainforests crying!

I didn’t like Monday mornings any more than students did,

or that I was never able to get them to be as excited about Walt Whitman as I was.

I didn’t mind hearing: “I hate poetry” or “This is boring.” Those words were an invitation and a challenge for me.

I didn’t like students whispering in the back row or crinkling candy wrappers during poets’ visits.

I didn’t like pages with only a name and the date written on top;

only a ghost where a poem should be.

I didn’t like to see the shadows of past criticism and cruel judgment that revealed themselves when students said, “I can’t,” “I won’t” or “Mine’s no good.”

I didn’t like having to say goodbye.

 

— Tzivia

 

Assignment: Now here my journey ends … but also begins …

- Sharika

 

 

Journey

for Sharika & Ericka

and all of the poets of The Care Center, 2000-2008

March 2000, I enter this old house

Here my journey begins

A jumble of paintings on the wall; pregnant girls eating bagels, sipping juices in the hall

Here my journey begins

A totebag full of poems and paper

Here my journey begins

I’ll teach Whitman and Shakespeare, my hopes running high

Here my journey begins

I stand in front of the class, unseeing eyes mirror back

Here my journey begins

I say ‘Here’s some paper, please write a poem”

Here my journey begins

I turn pale as the moon, as the page in my hand

Here my journey begins

My voice quavers. I speak nonetheless

Here my journey begins

Harjo. Whitman. Frost, Piercy and Yeats

Here my journey begins.

Pens hover, pages wait

Here my journey begins

‘Don’t think; your pen knows the way,’

Here my journey begins

‘Write about colors. Describe your mothers. Don’t rhyme. At least five lines … ‘

Here my journey begins

‘Don’t tear that page, you’re breaking my heart’

Here my journey begins

Palms pound desks, doors slam, students stomp out

Here my journey begins

‘Poetry’s boring.’ ‘Poetry sucks.’ ‘Will this be on the GED?’

Here my journey begins

Ink spills, voices crack

Here my journey begins

Stories topple into print

Here my journey begins

‘My brother murdered’ one girl writes; ‘My father passed from AIDS’ A street at night, a girl on the streets, a candle, a room …

Here their journeys begin

‘My baby’s first tooth,’ ‘My love,’ ‘My life,’ ‘My husband,’ ‘My friend’ …

The voices increase, our journeys begin

Eyes fill with tears, our poems fill books

Here our journeys begin

The words dance, the words cry, words crouch, words stir, they soar

Here our journeys begin

My poem is done, theirs just begun

And now my journey must end

‘Teacher goodbye, but first write a poem

Before your new journey begins’

And so our new journeys begin.

ASSIGNMENT:

Write about how you feel about leaving The Care Center and your new job.

- Samantha

Write an I feel poem.

- Christina

 

How I Feel

for Samantha and Christina

 

How does it feel to leave

what you’ve planted

What you helped to grow?

 

Each day, each week, another student disappears.

Someone I grew to have hope in. Someone I cared for.
Now it’s my turn to leave.

I want to say goodbye with care.

Not just disappear.

Leaving here feels like planting a garden

then moving away

knowing

petals will open

roses will bloom

but I won’t be there to see it.

 

The new job feels like a bed of soil

and I am holding a palmful of seeds

and I don’t know what they’ll grow to be.

- Tzivia