February 25th, 2014

I wish we were all born as we were supposed to be she says, drawing fractals on the table with a dry erase marker. Earlier Javi and Brandy exchanged rapid-fire insults at a speed I coudn't record, although I tried very hard to, because I believe their banter is proof of their eloquence and I plan to use this against them when they tell me they "can't write a paper". The room settles down and they search through the book for answers to their essay quiz. I am reading poetry I will introduce to them in a few weeks. Suddenly, a line I can't contain: Guys, the word Alaska means "where the sea breaks its back". I say. I don't get it, but it sounds real and deep. Yackayra says. I teach them to ask questions that will unlock. I want to tell them all that I am grateful for all my mistakes, in spite of the pain, and so I am glad I was not born a finished product. But I don't say these things because maybe if her father had been born a finished product he would have stayed. Maybe mine would have too. Connecticut is a word that means "beside the long tidal river". Beside the long tidal river we sit and learn and let the tides move us. We live on the tides of hope, and as they come in and out we make our hearts learn the rhythm. We ask questions and live there, in the asking, on the bank by the river. What you don't know can't save you, and we, we are in the business of redemption.