September was vivid as a kiss
or a hard push back then--
one scarce, one common.
The smell of a new eraser, the pungent insistence
of a just-opened jar of paste, the grind of a sharpener,
or the sound of snubbed scissors cutting through
construction paper--I remember them all.
I loved the school library with the soft edges
of books read a thousand times, the dark wooden
window frames, the rows of tables like boats at a marina.
September also meant doctor's waiting rooms,
the assault of hospital smells and rooms full of
us guilty damaged goons, our mothers' faces
as brittle as dropped plates. We're defectives and know it.
I remember. Here is my hat being thrown ahead,
out of sight, down the hall. Here is the boy touching his face
while staring at mine, afraid he might catch the ugly.
Here are the mimics, a circus of relentless clowns.
I remember all of it, though to look at me, you'd never know.
That child rides on my shoulders and inside my mouth--
the one that could not make herself understood.
I was educated and the lessons were both wings and anvils,
the thorn in my flesh that God gave His stunned child.
________________-
for What's Going On?--"Education."
Image: The Broken Witness by MistiStudios, redbubble.
Music: Morrissey November Spawned A Monster
Oh my gosh, Shay, what memories. You captured it! And what a transition....from the positive memories (we all hope to remember) to the negatives that live within you forever, into adulthood. The pain. The nastiness. Your words -- "I was educated and the lessons were both wings and anvils" -- took my breath away!
ReplyDeleteYes, this is childhood as only you can write it so well. The images are, as always, astounding. The mothers' faces brittle as dropped plates....and library tables like boats at a marina...wow! That child does ride around inside us still. I remember paste too, applied with a small wooden dixie spoon. And , being ancient, I remember inkwells and nib pens, and writing painful rows of O's across the page that made holes in the paper.
ReplyDeleteWhat a poem! What a song! What a poem! Gosh. "That child rides on my shoulders and inside my mouth . . . " With 'wings and anvils." You have made this very clear, both the soft love, and the hard terrorizing and the false messages that gave. Unsympathetic mothers and "Here are the mimics, a circus of relentless clowns." I remember the beckoning library and the clowns especially, frightening clowns that don't let up. This poem is special, brilliant.
ReplyDeleteWhat an honest and searing poem - From title to images to emotions all of it rang true and bright - Jae
ReplyDeleteSchool memories can be as light as wings or like the image of The Broken Witness. You've captured both ecstasy and agony most beautifully. Two lines will stay with me :
ReplyDelete'the rows of tables like boats at a marina.'
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'I was educated and the lessons were both wings and anvils,'
An inspired response to a pedestrian at best topic. But those who have the wings to soar must fly no matter how heavy the anvils they have strapped to their thin legs. I also like the simile of boats at a marina, each waiting to sail you away. The bullying is what I remember best about school--merciless and scarring, followed by the balm of the expanse opening in the classroom to if not heal, at least provide its comfort of broader horizons. A fine take, Shay.
ReplyDeleteI'm a teacher. Your poem is most relevant. Plenty of wings and anvils every single day.
ReplyDeleteThis is great - excellent images and pictures really creates a striking canvas.
ReplyDeleteI can so relate to the feelings and memories that linger that this poem holds and shares so vividly Shay! Oh how that title and closing line really grabbed me too!
ReplyDeleteThe paste, erasers, crayons, chalk, new clothes, stiff shoes, lunchbox and thermos, utter terror first day jitters ~~ you brought it back in spades/diamonds/clubs/hearts! And the end ~~ sobering.
ReplyDeleteYou landed it wonderfully:
ReplyDelete"
That child rides on my shoulders and inside my mouth--
the one that could not make herself understood.
I was educated and the lessons were both wings and anvils,
the thorn in my flesh that God gave His stunned child."
i recall the smell of the paste, odor of newly sharpened pencils, and those wonderful library books. You have captured ball the emotions of a schoolgirl.
ReplyDelete