As I sit in my office, waiting for a student to show up for a conference, I am running through my "to do" list. It's long. Aside from my last batch of student conferences, I have to go shopping at Walmart, pick up a prescription for my son, correct some student papers, and attend my daughter's choral concert tonight.
It's on days like today that I wish I was less responsible. If I were, I would blow off my conferences, skip Walmart, "forget" my son's medicine, and have a headache during my daughter's concert. But I am responsible. It's the way I'm wired. Can't help it.
Oh, by the way, I still have to work on a couple new pieces or writing, revise my Halloween poem (which is a creation myth), and read for my online class.
Saint Marty is ready for the sun to set.
The Creation Story
by: Joy Harjo
I'm not afraid of love
or its consequences of light.
It's not easy to say this
or anything when my entrails
dangle between paradise
and fear.
I am ashamed
I never had the words
to carry a friend from her death
to the stars
correctly.
Or the words to keep
my people safe
from drought
or gunshot.
The stars who were created by words
are circling over this house
formed of calcium, of blood
this house
in danger of being torn apart
by stones of fear.
If these words can do anything
if these songs can do anything
I say bless this house
with stars.
Transfix us with love.
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