Naming What Happened
I took a break from releasing poems. I had written most of them, but I needed some down time. Some of that was practical where I spent time building the playlists, adding merchandise, and letting the project breathe in different forms. Some of it was something else.
I realized that as I neared the end of telling this story and feeling its cost, I was slowing down.
These poems come from that slower place. They are less about the immediate shock and absurdity of what happened and more about what was becoming visible with distance: what people refused to see, what we are asked to accept, and what certain experiences eventually forced us to name.
There is still anger here, but it is more disciplined now. Less smoke, more clarity.
These poems sit together because each is about experiencing clear sight after a season built on distortion.
These poems don’t really shout as much as they simply know.
Inattentional Blindness
In those town hall meetings
that deliver a fatal blow,
they see us as
Too erudite,
Too polite to call it like we see it.
Too slow.
Too steeped in another century.
Too scared to act,
Too cowed to differ.
Too disconnected from reality.
Committed to wait and see.
They see the bomb, but not the lit fuse.
See the flamethrower, but not the spark.
See the gun, but not the trigger.
They see the spectacle.
They miss the background.
Like the gorilla on the basketball court,
they cannot see what they’re not looking for.
If we worked with intention at getting their attention
at naming what they aren’t seeing,
imagine what might shift.
Thoughtful is not indecisive.
Quiet is not weak.
Introverts are not easily diverted.
We are the fuse.
We are the fire.
We are the trigger.
See us –
Or feel the heat.
Stand Where the Other Stood
I’m tired of pretending it is reasonable
To treat people like fungible goods
Where one job is just like the other
And we can each stand where the other stood.
Square peg, meet the round hole.
Sit in it quietly and be grateful
We allowed you to stay,
Even when your misery compounds day by day.
I’m tired of pretending this is normal
Expecting everyone to do more with less.
Protect the students, the work, each other.
Insist that fastest is not necessarily best.
Overexpected, meet more underpaid.
Do more, take less, and be grateful
We allowed you to stay,
Even when your joy and dedication have faded.
I’m tired of pretending to be docile
Acting like it doesn’t matter when
Decisions are made without input
And handed down from on high again.
I’m done pretending it’s reasonable.
I’m done pretending it’s good.
I’m done pretending to comply.
I will not turn the other cheek.
If the present is any indicator,
The future looks too bleak.
The Word I Avoid
There’s a word I avoid.
It is overdeployed,
Used lightly and often
Until it means nothing.
I don’t recommend it,
Not because it offends
But because the power it holds
Warps the one who wields it.
What do we call it
When abuse is acute
And people are reduced to pawns?
Sycophants adored.
Thinkers ignored.
The weaponless attacked.
Blocked. Racked.
The well-paid call it culture shift.
The lower lose their shifts.
In that rift begins a job search.
And the recalculation of rent.
Then the power of the word
Becomes hard to shun,
And Hate spreads within
Like mold after a flood.
While the word takes a toll
As it eats at my soul
I can no longer avoid it.