I Am Not A Teacher.

I am not a teacher.

I am a judge, an auctioneer, a comedian. 
I am a banker.  And a chef.  And a doctor.   All by nine am. 

I am a stealer of time, a slayer of falsehoods.  I am a voice in their heads.
I am not a teacher, I am a shield. 

A steady hand in a lockdown drill. 
I make them feel safe in a world that is never so.  I surround, like a calm in the night; like velvet to a sacred scroll. 


I am not a teacher, I am a chorus, and a circus, and a magician. 
I make stars from paper and grit from hands and diplomas from brick walls. 
I bring life to rainy mornings and Pythagorean Theorems.  I tell them to lift their heads, dry their eyes, and then I show them why the leaves change. 

I am not a teacher, I am a madman.
I turn rage into sonnets, reservation to center stage. 
I step into wars,  flying fists, lost innocence.  I take the bullet, every hit, all the blame, and then I return in the morning.

I am not a teacher, I am a mother.
I hold band aids to bloodied knees, and hands across the street.  I feed and I clothe and I protect, with all of me, every day. 
I dream in sloppy cursive and college rule.  I extrapolate and interrogate and allocate, and when they curse me for it I remain.  In their corner always. 

I am not a teacher, I am a limb.
I am a shoulder, and a locked knee, and a heart that bleeds and bleeds. 
I am an ear to greet their wounds, a backbone on a playground, and a brain on a whiteboard on three hours' sleep.

I am not a teacher, I am a rock star, and a jester, and a broken record. 
I show them lines on paper and in hallways, and then I tell them to never stay inside.
I am an torch, and an umbrella, and a first line.

I am a nag, and a punching bag, and a friend.
I am intelligent and intrusive and inadequate.  I am the least revered and the highest of stakes. 
I am determined and ill-prepared and willing, but I am not a teacher, because what I do cannot be contained in a word, or a book, or a classroom. 

I am the work that spans lifetimes.
I am the love that waits with a smile,

who cries when they leave me single file.

I am not a teacher. 

I am everything, and everyone else. 



















Comments

  1. Excellent! You are a writer. Is that skill inherited?

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  3. "Art teaches us nothing except the significance of life."--Henry Miller

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  4. Amen. That is what all of us who were,or are, teachers do,feel,and live.

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