Poem: Eric Says

I know because Eric has told me
hundreds of time, that the students
living in and around these streets,
off Fayette, will come and go
as they please.

And who could blame them?

On a sultry, hot day in summer,
the pool, more amazing then any
un-air-conditioned room full
of art supplies, beckons.
Glistening under the sun,
filled with laughter and splashing.

That’s when the students
who might sit and create
at Banner Neighborhoods
look past me out the window
and begin to stir.

It’s hot, and they go silly
for coolness.
No art club can stop them.

Eric will admit, it starts
at home, but suddenly moves
to persuasive friends and the self.
When the creative activity is gone
and the classroom is empty
of anything but hours of planning
and monies wasted.

The students are
hungry, sometimes showing up
for snack alone.

Last week Tony brought a
whole posse of 8 – 10 kids
with him, banged on the door
at 445--class ending at 500--just as
we went about the classroom
attempting to discuss the day’s works
and fill bellies with animal crackers.

We all remember what it’s like,
the frenzy of childhood.
Summers when you could play outside
until the street lights came on;
secret clubs created, bikes piled on top
of one another on front steps.

I am competing with
summertime.

Malik showed up every day
except 3 times. It was the
art-making and adult attention
that brought him to us.
The secret was making him
feel welcomed and needed.

Others seemed not to care,
trickling in on occasion.
With the weight of the world
on their shoulders. This bothers me,
but my hands are tied.
Eric says it’s always like this.

I am there to facilitate,
create an experience, a
vivid memorable
art-making occasion.

Lesson plans, snack time,
exemplars galore! My instinct
is to chuck all of that and
ask the kids about their life,
search out answers.

Instead I pretend, facilitate,
and build a wall.