I was inspired to write (and record) this poem about the Oklahoma teacher shortage last summer. My friend Shanedra always jokes that I do my best writing when I’m angry, and it may be true to the extent that those moments when I’m angry are the moments when I’m more likely to carve out the time to write. Lauren Zuniga had just visited the OSU Writing Project Invitational Summer Institute, and she is a killer spoken word poet, hence my getting up the guts to record this one. Stay strong, teachers.
Sidebar: If you are one of the handful of people who visited my education blog last summer, this is its new home. Trying to resuscitate it with this piece and get into a routine. Wish me luck.
Years ago a friend and I started a paper called
“Teaching and Learning in the Red.”
We carried a Ziploc baggie of dirt to our conference in Ohio,
In one of our checked bags,
knowing no one would really understand
what we meant
when we said the earth itself was red here.
~
I’m an Okie born and raised.
I love this clay
unwillingly sprouting redbuds and okra,
Poke salad and persimmons.
Potato mountains roll eastward
that could carry a girl
right into Arkansas
And home again.
~
But now I hear fire and brimstone stories of how
all the schools are going straight to hell.
“Not yours?”
“Well, you know, there are those few exceptions.”
A lie repeated so often that, “Goodness,
It must be true…’bout everywhere but my child’s school.”
A billows fanning the flames of fear:
Maybe
public schools
just
aren’t
worth it.
~
Our police stations,
Fire houses,
Highways
Bridges
And schools
falling down
around us.
Teachers making miracles in the rubble
Vilified
For demanding textbooks
Updated more often than
“One day,
man may reach the moon.”
~
And don’t you dare ask for a raise, missy.
Especially a teacher shouldn’t ask for a raise.
Because she doesn’t do it
for the money.
~
Oh dear.
It hurts to know
Just how much
My pediatrician
Must
hate
my baby.
Why, what else could possibly explain her salary?
~
My grandmother watched her family leave
as the Dust Bowl
Drove them out.
~
There are days I dream of Oregon.
Mountain breezes and mail-in ballots
Call my name.
But red clay is a stain
I can’t remove.
This is where I’m from
Every
Stinking
Time
Goerge Ella Lyon
Asks.
~
Like my grandmother before me,
I’ll last through this not-so-great
Depression.
Despite the fact that the hottest bumper sticker
this year reads,
“Okie teacher for Texas or bust!”
You won’t see me piling into
anybody’s damned jalopy.
But I can’t blame my friends who do.
Because the pay is only the first few steps on a steep hill.
I once ran a 5K at the Pawnee Bill Ranch.
~
Try it.
~
You’ll have a new appreciation for just what it means to run
up a steep hill.
It is
taxing
to pay
for the copy paper,
the classroom library,
craft supplies
out of your own
shallow
pockets.
And forget that field trip.
Good luck finding a sub ‘cause we can’t pay them.
The Sherwin-Miller Museum is a 20 minute drive,
We can’t swing a bus to get your kids there anyway.
But I’m sure a virtual visit will be the same as standing face to face
With the Klan robes mounted there.
A white wave of nausea breaking over you.
But no time to think about that.
Because you’re teaching in a 4 day week what you’d have taught in 5
With 1/3 more students than you had last year.
Solve for
Why?
~
Because the good teacher
Doesn’t do it
For the money?
~
So yeah, I don’t begrudge anybody who walks back down this hill
Huffing and hot,
Muttering, “It doesn’t have to be this hard.”
After days of climbing the Pawnee Bill hill
Anybody will start wondering
how it’s still ascending all the way through the ranch
and back
In a mystical breach of the laws of physics,
that 5K ‘round a flat-as-a-flitter north Texas lake is soundin’ pretty good.
And that’s still a pretty intense run.
How long am I supposed to be mad at my friends — who are staying the course
But seek one that’s just not quite so steep?
Every body has its limits.
For this, dear colleagues, you owe precisely no one an apology.
You’re still running.
~
For those of us left here, we are going to have to
stand in line
Row upon row
Trees planted in our collective convictions
To keep these winds from further eroding the soil
From under our feet.
We are still,
for now,
many.
Those who pretend not to see –
“What crisis?” –
are all bluster and illusion.
Their Scooby Doo villain
to our pesky persistence.
Bad hair day in the making
When we finally unite
with our communities to
demand
more.
~
Sure, it can look like a tornado
From a distance.
But when it gets closer
We find they’ve mustered only a dust devil.
Swirling broken promises
Etched on brittle leaves when finally
Together,
Red and blue,
we say
No more.
~
Leaves make for excellent compost.
And in Oklahoma, we grow hearty teachers.
~
Next time you hear someone say
“But they don’t do it for the money,”
Let’s be clear about what
We
are
demanding:
The resource to make
A fertile intellectual space
for our students,
Rich with ideas
and some room to grow.
Okie educators are
Finished
Apologizing
For speaking
For our students
And ourselves.
Our kids and, yes,
our teachers,
need a lot more green.
Powerful poem. This is outstanding work, Robin! Love the steep hill metaphor, and the “solve for – why” line.
LikeLike
Thank you Jenn! I was reminded how hard it is to take a risk to try a new kind of writing — the spoken word piece especially was out of my comfort zone (I won’t tell you how many draft recordings are on my phone!) — I stayed up late getting this all ready to go and share so I didn’t chicken out, but as I told my little sister this morning, “You can’t be a chicken and be a writer, so here goes!” All that to say, I very much appreciate your feedback!
LikeLike
Really enjoyed this. There is so much truth in these words. We teachers keep, keeping on, but it is getting harder and harder.
LikeLike
Thanks Rick; keep up the good fight!
LikeLike
Very powerful!!! Great job!!
LikeLike
Thanks!
LikeLike
Powerful and beautifully written…
LikeLike