The Trees

grandma moves
with us.

she tends to us,
stomps on hornet's nests,
cuts down sugar cane,
waters trees.

she bends low,
checks the wintermelon on the vine
climbs high for figs -
our nomadic gardener.

I watch as she surveys her world
says goodbye to another empty sky.
I want to ask her,
can we bring the trees with us?

but I can't.
love isn't the harvest
it is the flower,
before the fruit.

this earth will be different
than the next.

grandma knows the secret

marriage and great grandchildren

can wait

our lives can't

happiness doesn't wait

her sewing machine

can only make a limited number

of alterations

Coming of Age

Middle school is the time to rebel.

That was the time when ...

- I said, "Grandma! I don't want you to walk me to school!"

- I stayed after school longer than I was supposed to

- Started talking back to my elders

- I didn't want to be perfect at anything anymore

It's so hard to remember this as I work with my students and runners.

It's only now, when the school is quiet and I'm going over what happened during the course of the day that I remember - how vulnerable I was, how defiant I was and how important it was for me to be all of that in order to get to where I am today.

It's part of the process.