Maybe
Maybe the storm overshadows our rosiest plans to teach us how to wait. Maybe the loneliness creeps up like a weed to teach us who our true friends are. Maybe our fears strike like lightning to teach us how to be brave. Maybe the darkness pays an unwelcome visit to teach us that it’s possible to hope again.
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Pitch: Claire wants to pursue her love of music, but the queen forbids non-foraging activities. When her hive faces collapse due to climate change, Claire must choose between her passion and her family.
Concept: STEM Jem and the Holograms COVID Classroom
I click lights on with a sanitized hand. My desk catches my teacher keys as they jingle, landing next to a stack of papers I’ll never pass back. Then there’s silence its heaviness settling like dust on the grey industrial carpet. A tower of desks leans against the wall with jagged metal limbs reaching up toward fading fluorescent lights as if tired of holding its own weight I hear no belly laughs, no frantic page turning, no chatter about the past weekend no rhythmic pencil tapping on desks no daydreamer’s sighs or muffled cellphones buzzing inside pockets I’m a performer on a stage with no audience. The ticking clock on my wall pulls me back from the catacomb of my mind So I stroll across the room, feed my orphaned plants sitting limp in their pots, and stuff my cabinets with unread class novels, finishing my quiet offering to the WiFi gods as I pray for their mercy, and wait for the world to decide if I deserve a cape or a handout or their scorn as I snap the lights back off and head to the noise waiting outside my classroom door. Free Therapy
Laughing until My abdominal muscles can No longer contain my chortles Until the grey delta of mascara and tears Flood my face My hands clasping my knees For support because I am so full of air Grateful to float without my anchors And forget about the weight of breathing. Visitor’s Pass
An ounce more of self-control, a sliver of luck (or lack thereof): the only forces separating us, besides the guards gazing suspiciously through the stagnant air and electric gates lurching heavily to block access in the rusted chain-linked maze. Inside, we taunt stiff officers with our giggles escaping freely out of our bellies, ricocheting off of out-of-service vending machines. Our hopes work as balm on wounds inflicted by mistakes; our smiles serve as shade from the heat of other inmates’ glares. We share memories to feel. We plan the faraway future to hope. We throw jokes to forget, like skipping stones dancing on the duct-taped linoleum, our laughter bursting out defiantly floating around the watchful tower and beyond the crowded walls. |
AuthorWord by word, I piece together the pictures and stories in my head. Archives
March 2021
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