Day 3~He Ain’t Heavy, He’s My Poem
It seems we are either being carried or carrying something. A wallet, yesterday, purse, groceries, grudge, love, resentment, a baby, cross.
We carry so much with ever asking why? Or what am I really carrying here?
So today let’s make this simple. Write about what you carry. Metaphorical or Literal. Have fun with it, write about where you are taking this (these) thing(s). Why are you carrying it? As you get ready to carry that laptop somewhere nice and comfortable to sit and pound a key or two, i’ll give you my offering on this one, and a few lines from students.
Sara Lopez-I carry the shattered pieces of my heart in a snack bag. Every time there is a hunger in your angel eyes, I hand it over willingly, only for you to crush it between your teeth and spit it out just like before.
Brian King-I carry a God like presence that radiates through all time.
Sabrina Guttierrez- I carry boulders in my shoes.
Once I crowned Mother Mary,
with baby’s breath, and mini peace roses
the color of blushing cheeks
woven with satin ribbons
of dove white and olive-green.
That Friday, as school
was winding down
my saddle shoed feet,
plaid Catholic School skirt
through the church garden
past blooming bell flowers
waiting to bust open
for a bee’s pleasure,
in a rhythmic strut
to “Hail, Holy Queen”
My palms up
nothing to hide
nothing to gain
nothing to lose
just a silk pillow
and it’s royal content.
I glowed—halo strong.
Then Gracie Galindo “whispered”
Her mother paid for this.
No one would have picked her.
My mother said so,
and she counts the collection baskets.
I smiled, pretending my heart was deaf
lifting the crown above the veiled Mary
praying she was deaf.
resting the crown’s ribbons over her ears.
School day done,
I waited for two hours by the bell flowers,
placing their magenta bodies
between my thumb and forefinger
forcing each to cry out with a pop,
while I wondered
if anyone would care
if Gracie tumble-down
the school back stairs
My mother picked me up,
2 hours late,
grumbling nothing in this life comes free,
not even a mother’s love