In the field
you examine leaves and feathers
stones and bones
to learn the stories of the land
to see who has passed this way
and how the wind has blown.

At the end of the day
I sweep the broom
across the cold white tiles
of the classroom floor.

A gentle snow of tiny paper pieces
torn from spiral books
falls silently all day
upon the floor

and as I pull those tiny flakes
with my broom,
and candy wrappers,
hair, so much long hair
and almost every day
at least one plastic pen clip,

I wonder what they could tell me,
if I knew how to listen,
about the young trees
which have dropped
these pieces and bits:

That girl, the one who tore
this piece of paper from her notebook
scattering tiny shreds around her on the floor,
would her litter tell me of her loneliness?

The broken bits of pen
perhaps would tell
of the boy who is holding
holding everything in
just barely but something
every day must break
so he doesn’t.

Could I piece a story
from the long strands of hair,
the gum wrappers and bright foils?

Now there is a new lore to learn,
new creatures to track
in the wild places.


Gratitude List:
1.  The whole family playing together in the dusk
2.  More fairy toadstools emerging in the fairy circle
3.  A powerful community-building moment in my class, initiated by a student
4.  Seeing a tiny light at the end of this tunnel of grading that I made for myself
5.  Elderberries, elderberries, rah, rah, rah!  I am drinking elderberry syrup almost like juice by now, but it seems to be keeping the thises and thats at bay.   Thanks to Tabea for the elderberries.  Gotta get me a couple of bushes.

May we walk in Beauty!


4 thoughts on “Detritus

  1. Somehow there is a comfort in the stories, known and unknown. There is also comfort in knowing that someone cares and is listening for the stories.


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