Then the time came when the risk it took To remain tight in a bud was more painful Than the risk it took to blossom."--Anais Nin

I am working things out in my mind and heart with fear and trembling. These are the words I comfort and challenge myself with:

When I grow tired of my students, as I always do--
staring at their faces till my sockets burn,
I remember one girl told me
how she followed a boyfriend home--
found him in tears--
He rocked on the bed,
screamed at her to Get away.
So she turned off his light
and closed the door,
and sat on his floor till morning.

When I think of this girl speaking in her gentle voice with its rough edges
I think of how teaching is like crouching sleepless
in a darkened room refusing to get up
knowing nothing will come of this,
--or only a story, maybe.

(anon, from Small Victories by Samuel G. Freedman)

**************

The Dare

Come walk the alley fence
Come tight-rope like a clown
Before Dad sees we're up too high
and shouts to get us down.

As confident as cats
We'll glide across the top
Hoping Mom doesn't look outside
And order us to stop.

We'll maybe lose our nerve
We'll maybe crash and fall
They'll probably shake their heads and say
"This doesn't make a bit of sense!
We warned you girls just yesterday!"
And send you home and make me stay.
But still--I dare you anyway,
To walk the alley fence.

--Ann R. Blaksler

********************

“What do you do when there’s nothing you can do,” Gram said. “I dunno, I do something else,” Dicey said. (Dicey's Song by Cynthia Voigt)

********************

Keep walking right through the hard things to where you can see Me. Leave the past behind and look up to me above all anxiety and grayness. I've already risen above them and am about to show you a new day. You'll find out who you are as you face the pain and help other people through it. And intimacy comes when you quit running from the truth about yourself and decide to turn loose...and walk into the future with Me. (the narrator here is God, as written by Keith Miller.)

****************

Thanking My Mother for Piano Lessons by Diane Wakoski (snippets. It's a super long poem, but it's worth printing out and reading the whole thing--go to the link.)

The relief of putting your fingers on the keyboard,

as if you were walking on the beach

and found a diamond

as big as a shoe;

***

Love is a man

with a mustache

gently holding me every night,

always being there when I need to touch him;

he could not know the painfully loud

music from the past that

his loving stops from pounding, banging,

battering through my brain,

which does its best to destroy the precarious gray matter when I

am alone;

he does not hear Mrs. Hillhouse’s canary singing for me,

liking the sound of my lesson this week,

telling me,

confirming what my teacher says,

that I have a gift for the piano

few of her other pupils had.

When I touch the man

I love,

I want to thank my mother for giving me

piano lessons

all those years,

keeping the memory of Beethoven,

a deaf tortured man,

in mind;

of the beauty that can come

from even an ugly

past.

Diane Wakoski, “Thanking My Mother for Piano Lessons” from Emerald Ice: Selected Poems 1962-1987. Copyright ¦copy; 1988 by Diane Wakoski. Reprinted
with the permission of David R. Godine/Black Sparrow Press, www.blacksparrowbooks.com/titles/wakoski.htm.

All shall be well, and all shall be well, an all manner of things shall be well. (Dame Julian of Norwich)