Dear, teacher: Ramona at 36, desperate…near quitting
I see you sitting in the rocking chair with that baby-near-toddler in your lap
watching Def Jam poetry
listening to Taylor Mali’s poem about what teachers make –
falling apart because you know you are buckling under the weight of the job…
knowing you can’t do anything else because you know you are doing right
walking in a good way
with these kids.
They get you and you get them.
I see you standing in office hallway outside the Vice Principal’s office –
next year’s teacher assignments on the wall for all other teachers to see.
I see your face when you hear her –
that old bitch…you know…the career counselor…say:
“Don’t give her Creative Writing! She can’t handle it. She gives everyone 100%. She is 100% Elke.”
I see your face in meetings where other teachers shit talk kids you know fight to survive
so you fight for them, too,
so you can survive the system made to crush you all.
You need to know what you do is right!
You are right about Spirit
and bringing soul to the youth who drown in the bile of their hatred
for classes, curricula, and creeping self-loathing borne out of failure.
You see them! They need that.
I am here – 15 years later –
your professor in your Masters program honour you then
for what you do now as you walk,
head down,
into the storm
for the ones left behind
or running ahead.
Keep walking, sister!
You are needed. You matter.
Ask the kids who shout out to you in grad ceremonies,
the parents who weep at parent-teacher night,
the non-believers blinded by the love they see from you for kids who lived loveless
’til you.
It’s good, sister.
It’s good!
I’ve seen where you are going.
When you look around now, you are alone not cuz you are behind…
you are just way too far ahead.
(c) r. l. elke