Wednesday, June 18, 2014

Hate



I.

Hate replaces the blood 
running from the heart to head.
It lingers in my toes,
compromised by my Raynaud's.
It settles in my fingertips;
and the hand warmers can't do their job.

Hate hovers on my tongue,
a communion wafer gone sour.
A litany, a chant, a mantra,
I repeat over and over again:

"I hate you."

II.

Hate surges vermillion,
coalesces to blue,
of words frozen
like hard green peas
in plastic freezer bags
on swollen joints.

The hate sears my veins:
a myocardial infarction.
I can't move past the feeling,
and it strips the oxygen from my brain:
Cerebral anoxia killing cells.

Hate murders the muscle memory,
pumps cyanide to the very end of capillaries,
robbing life from heart cells.
The dead is alive in me.

III.

Hate is a zombie life.
The dead walking,
dragging gruesome limbs,
tattered shredded skin, and lipless smiles
to concertina wire fences.

There I hang, bloodless, on razor edges.
A meat hook embedded in my sternum.
Intestines drooping in gangrene slime,
coating the wire of my cross.

I am hate crucified.

and there is no Resurrection
when hate replaces blood sacrifice.

IV.

Hate needs a retell.
A breath to kindle blue veins to scarlet,
on a body hung from a wooden cross.
Hate is a bruise fading
to newborn skin, bathed
in the water imbibed Word.

Hate needs an object,
a thing not human,
to correct fairy stories
of red shoes dancing
on a loaf of bread,
sinking in slime 
to the marsh woman's kingdom.

V.

Hate is a changeling
left on a doorstep
for an unbaptized child
clenching iron words
in a baking oven.

VI.

The words are memories I hate.
I long to scrape 
them from my brain: a leucotomy
of my hate,
leaving me a truth:
Hate needs to be dead,
in my heart,
in my head.

My life on the cross
has already been done,
through a rip in the side 
and the holes in hands and feet,
in the blood and water
flowing from forever.





Friday, March 28, 2014

Roar


I feel empowered this week!  I made a list and I'm crossing things off.  I took my car in for service.  I took Queenie to the vet.  I got my taxes done.  I unplugged my toilet! I set up Doctor appointments.  I got my carpets cleaned.  I did things that I never did before and without condemnation.  What a beautiful, liberating thing it is to be a responsible, tax paying citizen taking care of her life.

I did not have to listen to criticism for doing things wrong or incorrectly.  I did things that needed to be done in a timely fashion.  It made me realize the constant criticism I got from Pat.  I never did anything correctly.  Anybody I chose to do work was condemned and vilified by Pat.

Now it is just me and I did things that needed to be done.  I may have flinched a bit because of residual habits of abuse, but I overcame them.

I am not the person I was 5 years ago.  I am not beaten down.  I like and value myself.

I did not not walk away from my job.  I did not fold my cards.  I persevered. I stuck to it.  I am a beloved child of God.

My sons would not recognize me.  I hope someday they will want to meet this person I have become. I hope someday they recognize the gifts I gave to them:  God, hope, love, and a life worth living.

Meanwhile, I will continue to rebuild my life.

Saturday, February 22, 2014

Medford Teacher Strike February 2014





THE STRIKE HAS ENDED! 

I go back to my room tomorrow and have kids on Monday.  I am waiting to see if I have to make up any days.  I have lots of anger issues over this that I will be working through.  Plus I am exhausted.  It was a great civics lesson and makes me appreciate our Constitution even more.  Yep, I'm a union thug now.  Going to hug and squeeze those kids and do what is right for them and their education because I am in the one in the classroom who knows them and I have the professional training to know what is BS and what is good and right for them.  We are taking back our profession from the people who are clueless about what goes on in the classroom and do not have the professional training or education to know what is good and right for children.  

As a side note out of 600 teachers only 20 crossed the line, and our numbers on the line stayed the same during 13 days of strike.  The others unions say that is unheard in a strike to have such a high percentage go out on strike and keep the same numbers on the line. We are MEA!

Picketing sucks.  It was cold.  It rained.  It snowed.  It's boring. It's heartbreaking to see your kid's faces in bus windows, and behind fences and you can't hug them. It was infuriating to hear stories of the "quality education" going on inside when your CLA tells you of the 6th grade sub who had the kids compare the price of a 64 oz beer to a case of beer. Or the sub(scab) who slapped a child.  Of subs letting them chew gum.  Of subs checking their dating sights on school computers.  Coloring sheets in highschools.  Of our classified staff having to teach the lessons because the subs could not figure out how to do it.  The scabs, and I use it on purpose because not only were they the bottom of the barrel but were only in it for the money, were paid over $300.00 a day plus room, board, meals, training and catered meals.  Money that could have been used to settle a fair contract.

Then there was the waste of money on "rent a cops" to protect the sites and students from us dangerous teachers.  Security people who smoked cigarettes on the school ground and had felony history.

It was unbearable to read the lies about us in the newspaper and on the news from our superintendent when he tells them that we make $102,000. Or that they refused to bargain for 4 days over the holiday weekend, and the school board chair was in Las Vegas for a soccer tournament.  Or watching this timeline unfold that was planned all along by the school board and admin.  That they cared so little for the children, parents , and us .  

On the other hand, the overwhelming support on the streets from our public was amazing 200 thumbs up to 4 thumbs down or the middle finger.  Oh yes we were flipped off.  I even had a 70 year old lady stick her tongue out at me.  Of coffee, donuts, muffins, water, pizza, sandwiches, soup, and checks sent to us by education associations all around the state and country. 

Finally when we lined the streets, 600 strong on Barnett to show our solidarity, with drums pounding, a wall of signs , and hands waving we felt the strength of the most creative, inspiring, loyal, ethical, group of people I have ever known!

Our district could NOT break us.  They kept telling the press how we were going to break and cross over and how we were losing out on 3000.00 a week.  (REALLY?????!!!!)  We stood firm.  We stood tall.  We did not play in their sand box.  We took the higher road.  We did not delete posts off face book if they did not agree with us  like the district did.  We DID NOT lie about the numbers like they did on their web site.  We did not spin the truth to the cameras to make us look reasonable.  We did not sling mud against the people who lied about us.  


We deserve a fair contract that doesn't change 118 things in it.  We deserve to have a COLA after not having one for 8 years.  We deserve to have protected prep time and fair special ed. numbers across the schools. We are self insured.  We don't need a cap on our insurance costs.  We saved the district money on the insurance . So much so they moved millions to the general fund our of our insurance pool.  

Finally, don't just eliminate the early retirement benefit without phasing it out. We only asked for a year. Don't throw your veteran teachers off the cliff.  You gave admin. 2 years to phase it out.  You gave us 3 months. 



We did what we do best- we educated with numbers, we stood up to the bullying, and we used all our skills we use in the classroom to educate our students.  We are teachers.  We are united.  Don't come between us and our students.  We know what is best for them.  We are in the trenches. We deserve to be treated with respect and to have an admin that works with us collaboratively instead of dictating to us every single thing we do.


http://www.youtube.com/watch?feature=share&v=tADc5a3A1v0&app=desktop 





Wednesday, January 1, 2014

Sunday, December 29, 2013

Christmas Vacation

I have got to stop doing these Christmas vacations away from my support groups and mental health strategies!  I love my family of mom, sisters, nephews and nieces, but the pain of the loss of my own boys is almost more than I can bear anymore.  I am not suicidal, but I can truly see why people kill themselves during the holidays.  We just want the pain to END.

It has been three years since I  have seen any of my boys.  I truly don't understand what I did to deserve this treatment.  How can you treat your mom like she doesn't exist?     I refuse to believe I was such a horrible mom or person.  I won't believe it.

Now that I am home I can operate in my adult.

Next year I hope I can be stronger without crying everyday.

In my lowest moments I hate them for what they are doing to me on purpose. Sometimes I wonder if I will ever be able to forgive them?  

So I thought of my poem, "Ascension" tonight because of the fog.  I'm still there....
                                                                                                                             

Tuesday, October 1, 2013

Retreat






The stillness,

after the wind dies,
after the mountains
have been thrown down,
when fire burns the bushes,
ignites the trees,

the stillness
is in the death of flames.

The low whisper of rocks
falling from the path,
echoes
in the gullies, canyons, and valleys.

The stillness of a heart monitor
in a hospital room.
Death comes.


The Word of the Lord
is my stillness.
I am hidden in the clefts.

I wrap the stillness
around my joints
where age saps my strength,
misfires my heart,
dims my perceptual vision,
and muffles my ears in white noise.

When I am alone,
in wind,
 fire,
 earthquake,
cobbled in rock,
your word of 7000
 is my comfort.




Monday, September 9, 2013

The Creature from the Black Lagoon



Tears hide at the eye's sharp corners.
Sorrow reveals the creases, buried
in skin, between the ground and mourners.
Gathered like weeds, submerged and ferried.

The current ties the sodden stalks 'tween
ankles, flipping memories: black lagoon
creature with opal eyes and fins of green
mohawk feathers.  Death swims naked in moon
shadows, brushing my thighs with whispery
nails.

Leaving reminders, scratches, contam-
inated,with trace 'neath finger nails, matches
the DNA of sin from Adam's slam
against his Eve.  The clumps, soil detaching
marks creation's fall.  Leaving tears in veils,
drowning death daily, with rusty red nails.