From the Hip

teachers susan where are you with the daily reminder that writing before a person wakes up is the best time to write and write and write and write. jack with your serious lean in and bear like support reminding us that every work every word every effort is celebrated from the first draft to the published work. each one birthed from deep inside person. nancy and her faulkner lens that showed us that characters are deep and tragic and gothic. julie and jodi using peer to peer cutting out clips and mirroring the specific to the general. I build an alter with words as a homage

ms. halverson in action as seen by student age 17 today a student donned a sharp tone and slid a blue highlighter across the page "You have to change this and this and this" he mimicked me and my editing style "This is what Ms. Halverson would tell you." "I'm not going to tell you wants wrong" he blurted out with a smirk. "You'll need to figure it out."

It's hard to make time every day for writing even something as simple as a poem. how does one carve out time for a dream? maybe langston has it right: dry up fester like a sore & run stink like rotten meat crust & sugar over       like a syrupy sweet? sags       like a heavy load.        Or explode?

When you try to share your experience   a grand paradigm shift bubbling up inside like hot lava   and are greeted   with   but or   so or   I'm offended

Each year we gather  to  celebrate the risen baby Jesus  with jelly beans  and vodka s oaked  peeps.   A chocolate Easter bunny with nibbled ears  tossed aside in a bed of green plastic grass.  

The rules on the event of her 1st birthday as dictated by her older sister no baby crying no baby climbing no baby getting into paper no baby not in your mouth no baby no magnets no baby barbie shoes no baby flowers no baby markers no baby buttons no baby sticking hands into doors.

i perch on the edge of my kitchen table surrounded by mounds and piles and leaning stacks of books, marker boxes, coloring sheets a broken crayon; tonight dinner crumbs a perspiring purple water cup my laptop teetering on the corner as i squeeze out an idea, a space, a corner of this universe for me.

when i think about you & your strong & worn hands that hammer & build & labor & at the same time soften & cuddle & hold

as i stare at a room full of 11th graders who are finished with the SAT time is ticking ticking by as we wait for the longest five minutes in the whole world.

i see you blurry eyes rolled outta bed scooting down the hall after the tardy bell stained shirt saggy pants guilty shadow like middle of night couch surfing or is it shame for another bad start to the day? the why the fuck am i here look that don't fuck with me glower that grunts or hisses I see you braids tight new kicks  looking good in my i do care outfit earrings to match and carefully picked out pants polished nails and pencil in hand broken smiles that say i can tell you the right answer to your fill in the blank but don't you ask me to explain my idea to the class that please don't call me out on smile i see you covered in wounds or a blemish a fear a dream a tear a broken heart a clenched fist.

the SAT is like Mike Tyson says a son of Godwin when Buster Douglas took him down... this system has these kids up against the ropes with fill in this bubble and remember this formula don’t forget to analyze this and organize that with a relentless focus that forces these kids to approach learning with scholarly thinking but is that so bad? you can fight back & get off the ropes & get back into the ring sweat dripping eyes focused looking that beast in the face I’m not afraid of you one student whispers.

A morning pledge; a promise  You'll just become another grown up,  Wiggling & rolling &  giggling Covers tangled  Sunrise cuddles  When are you going to forget about being a child?  Squirming and crawling and laying on each other like pillows. Sun splashing in the window.  You are slowing down my creativity.  It's time to grow up  Donuts covered in rainbow sprinkles in bed  with  frosting  mustaches  I will never forget. Inspired by  The Little Prince  Both written version by Antoine de Saint-Exupéry and screen version directed by  Mark Osborne

A conversation between me and a student the Thursday before Spring Break.  U going outta town Ms. Halverson?  No. My girls and I are going to host a stay-cation.  What's that?  It's like when you stay home  and  do stuff around your neighborhood.  That sounds like what I do all the time.  But  without  the  fancy  name. 

When you walk  there is a skip  hop  jump  flitter  tap  skip to every step.  A jerky glide that follows a pattern only  you  hear. 

Ode to Sheryl Sandberg thank you Sheryl for sharing that you put your little ones to bed in their clothes for the next day. this has liberated me from my mother who's comment on a summer morning 11 am is do you think it's appropriate for your daughter to still be in her pajamas? my daughter who was put to sleep in her clothes for two years thanks to Sheryl. my daughter who sometimes will go to sleep in her outfit from the day before and then skip into the next morning with a milk mustache and magic wand. this spring break I have worn the black pants (you know these black pants) we all have this pair of black pants; to bed and the next day  for going on six cycles. Sheryl, thank you for freeing me from the idea that all days must start with fresh clothes as if the shit from the day before does not roll over into the next day.

Spacegirl was alive and well in 1997. She was free and wild and full of words that splashed the pages. Spacegirl is tired and cloudy in 2017. She is up early and hands full of other people peices. April 5 is the release date for Spacegirl 2.0 A retro throwback and a recycled version of this hip chick clogs and shoulder bags and pencil in hand.