|
Notes from Third Grade even a monochromatic world |
|
Recess a balloon bursts they all hit the ground a chain-reactive-multi-car-pile-up and no one comes with the jaws of life |
|
Untitled strays slither through broken fences ears to the ground start stop start crouching shadows devour whatever someone leaves them satisfied but still clinging to hungry no one notices until the cat fight in the alley disturbs their sleep |
|
Resolution death is a frequent flyer here |
|
The Yard from your window you see desolation I have never known a slide swing only chainlink keeps you out or us in but if you press real hard against the pain you will hear laughter |
|
Inner-city black paint is layers thick peeling blistered from years of neglect parts just rot away unnoticed I flake some off with my fingernail barely grazing the beauty underneath you just can't go in with a power sander people act as if I'm crazy you know you need a mask and gloves all that lead is dangerous and the poison affects you for the rest of your life |
|
St. Louis Zoo Birdhouse, 1999 soaking wet twenty two of us file in Darion rushes to hold the door the lady in front doesn't say thank you these are rare birds I explain there were once hundreds but now there are just a few we're destroying their habitat Destinee chimes in and now there's no place for them to live in peace Lawrence watches as they watch I can see his heart through the hole in his shirt |
|
Fourth Grade, 2000 when I began to love you is not marked on any calendar there is no time or place or date but surely I will not forget when I began to love you I was uncomfortable in my own skin I didn't see the difference between being scarred for life and being scarred by it when I began to love you I found that feeling the earth move meant certain destruction somewhere else and one single smile shining on me was worth more than a million sunrises shining on the rest of the world when I began to love you |
|
big hearts in little bodies leave lots of pieces |
|
Painting the Rainforest on the Wall October, 1999 sound of smiles bubbly new paint eyelashes blink a rainforest |
|
Grant's Farm, 1999 there are too many children but the bus in front has even more we stop on the curb load six, duck to keep the tree limbs from slapping our faces silly when is lunch? later open windows allow June to bake us like dirty cookies ironing wrinkles into my skirt Regge sucks his thumb dreaming ten year old dreams on my shoulder a fight breaks out somebody's mama hurts more than a fist we lurch along trying to read billboards and road signs everyone has to use it Marcel is crying the boys call him pussy we back into the bus slot three times everyone has a journal we're classifying animals the lot is full we feel like a sideshow Arquise asks why they are staring I tell him they're jealous of his beautiful eyes a woman who thinks whiteness owns the world tries to push us aside her disgust a rotten peanut in my mouth I spit her out without gagging the kangaroos come right up and let us touch their noses we feed the goats pass potbellied pigs zonies zonkies the eagles that cannot fly stand in line waiting for the next tram stare at sno-cones when is lunch? later we dodge elbows across the bridge they are still staring |
|
Hope an iridescent bubble lifts itself to the sky no wind no wings just pure determination to rise above and keep on going pulling free almost almost almost almo an iridescent bubble lifts itself to the sky all poems |
|
Commentary: I am a teacher in a non-integrated inner-city school in north St. Louis, Missouri. For the first time in a very long time I am suffering from writer's block. I suppose I am not the first contributor to Bonfire who finds it easier to write the poems than to talk about the process. I struggled for days on the commentary for Notes From Third Grade and, although a commentary now exists, am still struggling. I suppose I attempted to say too much in essay, and subsequently, said very little. Poverty is a tricky thing, and the line between pity and empathy is often undefined and gossamer thin. Statistically, the children at my school are 99.9% African American (the school is nonintegrated) and 99.9% of the children receive free lunch and breakfast at school, common measures of poverty and often the only meals they receive. The school community is surrounded by dilapidated housing. Drug Free, Gun Free signs line our streets. Few people venture out after dark. Still there is beauty. What I want you to know, to understand, about these children is the fact that they are fiercely proud and fiercely loyal. They are loving and kind. Generous and compassionate. They are beautiful. For example, my students have a classroom store. With their profits they have sponsored 1/2 acre of rain forest in Brazil, 1/2 acre of coral reef in the Dominican Republic and a nine year old Haitian child named Jacky through Save the Children. In fact, when we finally received Jacky's picture after what seemed like an eternity, the students couldn't wait to see what their "adopted child" looked like, where he/she lived, how old the child was, what the child's name was, etc. We gathered around to look at the picture of a gorgeous youngster with a lovely African face, and there was complete silence for nearly an entire minute. No one so much as took a breath. Finally, one of my little boys said "Hey you guys, he looks just like us!" The entire class took this information in and digested it. Then another student said "Yeah, but he's poor." My students participate in a looping program, meaning I have them for consecutive years. I am also an alternative education counselor for troubled middle school and high school students. These pieces are the result of my experience with some beautiful children in a not so beautiful situation. All names have been changed to protect the identity of the children. Janis Wiley Bonfire contributor |