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This is a Tuesday Slice of Life for Two Writing Teachers.
Check out their website for many more reflections on teaching.
I am finding it impossible to think or write about anything other than the horror of what happened in Charleston, SC last week.
Nine innocent, beautiful people were killed
in their own church,
during bible study,
simply because they were black.
Simply because they were black.
Simply because they were black.
Careless Gardeners
This racism, this terrorism, this hate
is growing in the midst of so much beauty and good,
like a pernicious weed in my garden
emerging so similar in looks to neighboring flowers,
tricking my eye and avoiding my trowel,
unbeknownst to me,
ignored, invisible, irrelevant,
until I see it has begun to strangle my precious peonies and bleeding heart.
Am I a careless gardener,
hastily pulling off its lengths,
and simply smoothing out the soil about the plants,
hastily pulling off its lengths,
and simply smoothing out the soil about the plants,
oblivious to the multitudinous runners
underground
coursing every which way,
still rampant?
Or do I dig down deep,
eliminating roots,
nourishing, cultivating, enriching,
turning over the soil?
Or do I dig down deep,
eliminating roots,
nourishing, cultivating, enriching,
turning over the soil?
I am in shock, too. And part of my sadness has to do with the way some people have responded to this tragedy, and refused to see it for what it is: a sign of the true state of race relations in this country. Beautiful poem.
ReplyDeleteI am in shock, too. And part of my sadness has to do with the way some people have responded to this tragedy, and refused to see it for what it is: a sign of the true state of race relations in this country. Beautiful poem.
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