Reflexiones on Being Profe. Callie

Sometimes the flavor of frustration

coppery and quick to strike, pumps

through every nerve ending with venomous intent

a spasm of anger recoils my smile

to pursed lips screaming for an undisturbed

moment of breath.

Like a toddler who can taste feelings

before knowing how to categorize them;

I am thrown for loops by teenage laughter

snide ironic comments that can only be

bent by the hasty mouths of 16-year-olds.

There are a finite number of times I can utter a stern

“silencio”

before I feel my head expanding and contracting

with intended patience

mauled into a clenched jaw

and disappearing smile wrinkles…

My sparkle funneled, a channel of molten negativity

I sense my energy in these moments

suckling parasites, thriving in darkness

hatching plans for how to breed

battling for power over my well-being.

Other times

I taste pure golden sunshine

and gulp the mischievous spark of youth

like it still belongs to me

and I want to congratulate

these little bastards

for challenging me to my wits end

I see the battle waged

between teacher and student

as a parody, a commentary of irony

my karmic fate.

Inner smiles and sly winks abound

and joy radiates from my grounded core

energy flows freely in these moments

when a single word or note gives me goose bumps

and smiles make my soul fly.