Asked my students to write a poem tonight about how to make the most out of one's life before death comes a knocking. We'd been studying Dylan Thomas's "Do Not Go Gentle Into That Good NIght," and after a discussion, we just spit out a poem. Here's what I wrote:
This can't be it.
This can't be it.
I say waking at a new day
There's a window
I see it
A hole in the net
A girl with a novel
she has not mastered yet.
String out a message
put it in a bottle
ship it to shore
tell them I'm trapped.
And then what? Wait?
No!
Ask - ask - ask
for the scissors to use to cut
through this netting.
I am not a fish meant for supper,
but a super Salmon who must
travel upstream,
then I shall die
millions of eggs safely spawned.
1 comment:
I am one of the eggs you spawned. My life wasn't what I hoped for or even imagined. It has become increasingly hard to carry on when I continue to let myself be used by bad people. But as Jesus said, healthy people don't need a doctor, the sick do.
Thank you for exploding into your own, hard earned glory. I know it gives God great pleasure to see one of her children who had the deck stacked against her from the get-go, overcome and show the world, and her big brother, what success really is.
I am so proud of you! Forever I will love your witness and your soul.
You are what was meant for us all to be. Thank you for being my sister.
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