Yes, there is anger there before I come
the cause outlasts me, and it is stronger.
It’s let them down, shaken them out; they’re done
with anyone who demands the best of them
they’ll fight it, and they’ll fight their own hunger
their hope is not quite dead, so anger comes.
What I ask: try to see the shapes between
the chairs, as if empty space were thicker
than objects. Now I’ve confused them, they’re done.
Negative space is where the chairs are not. Gone.
Their slim faith in me exists no longer.
Anger rages in them before I come.
Shall I sit in the not chair? Donna’s tongue
is quick, her brain quick too, she’s no sloucher
she’s tough – she shakes me out and she’s not done.
They laugh to get the best of me – they’ve won.
Something there is that they’ve known longer
that builds their anger up before I come
sets them down, shakes them out – relax, they’re done.
With my collage I teach rhythm, movement.
They scramble my odd pieces to make them new.
My children they play with shapes, confident.
Other days they break the pencils with pent
up rage that mashes charcoal, spills the glue,
this day their music flows, they are content.
What brought such joy to me – books, learning – meant
to them each day a test they failed anew,
today they play with shapes – confident.
Of harmony, tension, the elements
I teach; they balance, one piece add askew,
this day their music flows, they are content.
It’s plain, I praise, you have natural talent.
The face of happiness is drawn anew.
My children play with shapes, bright, confident,
today their music flows, they are content.
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