No One But You

Itch

Starting under the surface in the most personal places
A bon fire got lit
By the waves that are undulating under my covers
Foaming , cresting, returning
Waves of salt break

This epidural barrage again at 2 AM runs
Longitudinally through the
Water at my shores
Removes the sand back to the seas in erosion
The fury of this itching
A pounding wall
Scratchlessness with screams for attention.
Sitting on the log of another evening luau.

She's Crying

Again.
Clouds darken her
Water slides down from her
dull purple marrow.

She was so lemon-up
Young the orange burst through
Warm, clowny
Giggling.

Races define her school
"To be." The being that knows
And tells, it's stupidity
It steals her joy

Tears slide washing away
The pains of thinking
Feeling just is
Sweety, we do lie.


Ladybugs

I slipped several in the calendar as the numbers today changing to May 1st
Pictures of the ladybug.
"The map is not the territory"
Pictures didn't speak to me a 1000 words.
But they quietly alluded.

In the jar on the table the 1st graders put 100's of the ladybugs
Invading our yard, losing their fears of them completely
Until in their molten glee
Another teacher who simply
Hates me for my face and 1000 mappable reasons said, "Your boys"
( obviously I must now birth them)
Your boys are not lining up!
(She'd left hers a mile away messing everywhere, to say this to me about not lining up)

"All your boys are stuffing Ladybugs in their shirt, pants, everywhere!"

One stood there, held by his shirt, red-faced.
Crawling with them.
Red winged creatures were lifting off of him in hair, off arms, his belly.
He was a helio-pad.

My answer was, "I see."

But I could not control a smile.
Why would I not allow that to lips of mine?
6 year olds with shirts full of ladybugs, up til then rather fancy
Gifts for a teacher who is certainly 'different.'
One landed on my glasses and in disgust Mrs. V walked away.


The Hardest Part

Of teaching him looking way, way back was his anger
That rode there with the self assurance that
His line of thought was spotlessly designed.
It was, after all his.
He'd yell out all the answers brutally
Framing them to tell someone else
Usually someone struggling with great,
Great things like a Dad about to die in a hospital
That they were fat or stupid, left out a letter...something.
Said to excoriate.

Then come up saying someone talked
meanly to him, if they ever, provoked, retorted in kind.
Some did unused to this competitive display.


He
Never understood that 34 kids in a class meant
34 different sets on needs and all planets in complex universes.

It was always "me" and "now."
He had to have all the answers so I thought of the Karaoke construct
He repeated things for my "hearing loss" I developed that year.
He watched me constantly for any issue of indecision ( one of my many issues),
inconsistencies, error, opinion, lack of intellectual breath,, mostly
it caused me to feel choked. But it was my job to deal
With that too and present the material as required.
If a sentence started "You said" just sit down the day's over.

I got pretty upset when he said he'd kill himself to his mom
Forgetting to tell her that day
He blazed a ball into another's head in his fury because
They supposedly made a face "at him." His tirades were to distract from that
Or So it worked. Addressing another's
Hurt or requests were unheeded largely.
He did lots of good things to try again.
Just often expecting the same rapid response times.

This child often said I "Did nothing."
or certainly not well enough and I think he did like my work
But expressed me in terms of failure.
He worried about everything and his
Thinking mind was like a blast in head all day.
Or I was lacking, somehow...no good,
He couldn't see your mind weekend and mind night work.

But even if he saw it it was not assimilated like an obsessive POV.
It just wasn't easy. You got tired of the "I'm better" stuff.
I was tired of the way it felt.
He had fantastic drawing ability. He could suspend time to work forever if wanted .
His abilities miles above peers. Extraordinary pieces.
Disorganized, Oh my. He'd metaphorically apply gum in
other's hair so the day would lose out to arguing.

I prevented the fighting.The teasing. No one that year beat him up.
That was a fact too.
Praised the effort.
I explained to him the feeling world as I know it, through me.
Talked of family, experiences
To try to build understandings.
But that was often distorted and that hurt too.
I sat outside and waited though the fits.
Walked this 11 year old to everything. Kept noise and all activity structured and
regulated
I didn't enjoy this either at times-the work.
It's my job, No punches fell I knew of but his.
But I did worry about it. i felt his anger, pain, confusion of dealing with others.

I didn't like being called stupid or the judging too much.
But I was grown and it was nothing or too big a deal
Depending. I think I saw this child pretty well,

Not so long ago I ran into him out shopping.
He said to my hello, "You got fatter Mrs. p"
I am.

Too bad really that we couldn't switch places,