Faculty of Education's Virtual Poetry Space

March 20, 2023

In honour of World Poetry Day observed on March 21, Education faculty and students share their poems. 

  • Amanpreet Nanua
  • Bruce McGarvie
  • Evelyn Gock 
  • Joy Inae Kim 
  • Katherinne Desormeaux
  • Kathy Do 
  • Laura Brown
  • Paula Rosehart 
  • PreetAman Kaur Mann
  • Ramona Elke 
  • Sandeep Kaur Glover
  • Sarita Baker
  • Simardeep Kaur 
  • Yuvleen Sidhu 
  • Zhanna Yushchanka

Congratulations to our Book Draw winners! 

A Spoken Word Slam Poem 

By Evelyn Gock, student

Inspired by J. Miller’s notions of transmission/transaction/transformation in Holistic Education 

Before I started this journey, I was in denial 
Not the river 
But the actual state of mind 
Denial of my values 
People thought I was 
A knowledgeable teacher who worked hard 
Busy as a bee  
And collecting information  
Like a rock 
Collecting consumed my time 
Finite, precious time 
Invisible, intangible, inexorable  
(Foe of patience)  
Time that could have been spent 
Connecting with myself 
In heart, body and spirit 
Exercising, meditating, breathing 
Time that could have been spent 
Connecting with family 
Husband, daughter, siblings, parents 
Colleagues and friends 
Over coffee 
Over books 
Over recess 
Over problems 
Laughing, crying, 
Listening, sharing 
Time that could have been spent  
Respecting my mother  
Mother Earth  
The One who takes my b******t  
Yet relentlessly sustains me with food, water, and air  
(The precious gifts for life)  
The provider of my home,  
Where beautiful intersecting relationships live  

I stuffed my RAM beyond its rim  
The RAM in my brain  
My million-year-old, unevolved brain  
That society unfairly compares to a digital innovation  
The computer  
The One that will become our saviour  
With a push of a button  
Or a swipe to the right

Until the day 
COVID brought us to our knees 
With full lockdowns 
And remote learning 
Someone somewhere somehow 
Hit restart 

Sporting my rose-colored glasses  
I thought it didn’t matter  
Time made me wealthy  
Rich with information, experiences, and knowledge  
My cup was full I could handle it,  
But I had forgotten  
(Clink, crack!)  
What’s important was how it’s served 
I used to think that if I could expand her cup 
Roll up the rim 
Fill it ‘til it’s overflowing 
I would protect my ego 
(For the win like Timmy) 
Little did I know 
What my gut innately knew 
My soul 
Was fading to black 
I lost my way 
Buried under the weight of  
(More is better) 
Divide and conquer 
(No pain, no gain) 
Picture perfect 
Of information  
Severed my intuition  
That wireless connection  
To land  
To the child  
To myself  
(Snip, snip, snip!)  
Let’s not shun the -tions of the past  
They brought us darkness for  
Our stars to shine  
I can be that agent of  
Transformation in Education

Who slays the day  
(Like the Paper Bag Princess)  
In the circus of my classroom  
Where understanding comes from authentic experiences  
Spurred by our curiosities  
And acquired  
Across our bodies  
Across our surroundings  
Across our relationships  
Through story and ceremony  
(Under these constellations)

How Many Nights

by Bruce McGarvie, student

How many nights do I have to spend 
Alone and blue  
How many dreams have to die  
How many miles do I have to go  
Without you  
Please give me a reason why  
City blocks are so hard  
Hard and cold  
When you’re walkin’ them on your own  
Loneliness makes to feel so tired  
Tired and old  
Like a man without a home  
Like trying to drink from an empty wine glass  
I have to forget about the past  
Trying to get an answer when I’m talking to the wall  
Have to love a lot, or not at all

Story of Us

by Joy Inae Kim, Student

Mother’s mother 
Mother’s sister 
Daughter as mother 
The sister un-mother 
I - 
Generations of women 
carried by stories 
and lessons  
where love  
is the only solution. 
The words sit interwoven 
into the seams of our DNA: 
                                 empowerment – 
Never isolation. 
There is no space for “I” - 
work with their hands 
to create for others 
           to provide for young minds – 
Space to write  
their own stories.  
Stitch the family quilt 
a collective effort. 
Bring timely wisdom- 
that fits into the X-shaped hole 
in our own lives. 
Imprint a “you-shaped” mark 
on the story of us 
where time and lives 
the now and them. 
           Sister’s sister 
                      Daughter’s - X 

The Artist's Daughter

by Katherine Desormeaux, student

Grown in the woods, spirit of the wild. 
The fragile spirit of the feral child. 
Drawn into shadow, exposed by light. 
Woven like thread to the loom’s delight. 
Trout of the stream, owl of the branch; 
movement of the soulful dance. 
Tree brent by wind, rock carved by water; 
molded as the artists’ daughter. 
Broken by love, deceived by trust. 
Victim of agnostic lust. 
Carve the sculpture back to dust 
Kneed the clay then shape the bust. 
Stanch the tears, reform the spirit 
Rehearse the song until she’ll hear it. 
Love composed of tender song; 
Waits until the heart grows strong.  
Raised from the ash with a spirit of fire 
Kindled to have her heart’s desire. 

Singing as the Great Remembering 

Simardeep Kaur, Student

The sweet scent of honeysuckle meeting my face
On a neighbourhood bike ride in the summer sun
The rush of the breeze forming a canopy under my t-shirt
Inviting mosquitos to feast on my brown sugar skin 

I can’t scratch the itch on my back
Mama said dinner will be ready before the sun sets
My hands stay put on my handlebars
as I pedal my way home 

I lean into the sting and stay the course
This is how I sing my way into my memories . . .

Visiting an Immemorial Place

by Zhanna Yushchanka, student

The place I come 
Has always been. 
Centuries ago, 
You could hear a drum. 
Now- only green 
Pines and cedars around... 
Quiet steps in moccasins- 
A young Musqueam girl 
Is kneeling to the spring, 
Scooping up water, 
Bringing to her lips,

And drinks. 
Freshness fills her body, 
Waking up. 
Her eyes are bright, 
She’s singing, sending her love 
To the Trees, the Birds high up

In the Sky, and the Sun

And It Continues

by Yuvleen Sidhu, student

As an educator on a journey, 
My goal is clear and bright, 
To promote social emotional learning, 
And guide learners towards light.

With empathy and kindness, 
Leading by example everyday, 
Teaching children to be mindful, 
In navigating life’s winding way. 
As a school leader,

Striving to build school community,   
Where learners are valued, 
And supported in diversity. 
Together we will explore emotions, 
Learn to communicate with care,

Empowering one another, 
Be kind honest and fair. 
As I continue this journey, 
I’m reminded of the impact I can make, 
Being vulnerable, persistent and persevere,

For my student’s sake.

Inquiry in Education: Playful forms of Curiosity

Laura Brown, Student

In free verse, is one actually free?  
Not literally but maybe, creatively, it comes from within. Performatively, as in ...  
... it is "the one who listens that learns". And all that, in tales.  
... to ACT(ually) be curious and explore without form  
Means to dig deep and weave - exploring beyond, and then so much more.  
Through the metaphors and wordplay, free /break/from convention.  
The 'plexity-of perplexity, complexity and duplexity  
... where barriers of plexi came to have meaning ... I imagined a glass house and placed it between, while keeping them safe from an invisible unseen. 
Blurry and Distorted, but more real than the screen.

And in doing so... 
• What surprises -to discover/uncovered?
• Can be perceived/received - by who and how?
• And what can be gained by offering space - to compare, share, acknowledge and reflect?  

The bravery to ask "what's next" ... to find self. In a what/so what frame to challenge next steps.  
A child's sneezy sleeve, an adult's missed day.  
A desk waiting, in the morning light. 
"Into the unknown" ... and "a thousand reasons I should go about my day". 
Clean slate? 
Perhaps, but listening closely.  
How to define (my)self: …. in words, 
… in experience? 
… in themes that I notice? 
Asking, when do I feel most me? 

A top spinning and wobbling out of control? 
Always the impossible is possible but.... 
Pirouette or a fouetté, the secret is the same. 

Always hold the spot.  

I'm All in a Stew

By Evelyn Gock, Student

As time slipped away  
I could feel the stress begin  
For how, am I to create something novel  
When my family needs  
Din din?  
I stared at a blank page  
As it stared back at my blanks  
The starting pistol was fired  
But, my mind was sayin’ no thanks 

Threated by 
And unfounded fears 
Experts say a world without play 
Could only bring tears 
Pressure to prioritize 
The intellect 
The standardized scores 
They pushed play to the wayside 
Which opened old sores 
Oh, and remember 
Those play structures? 
Pre-designed, all shiny and safe 
Closed the doors 
For poor, pale Bobby 
Who became an insecure Waif 
You see, these 
Contextual processes 
Shaped by  
Political, societal 
And cultural values too 
What my heart  
Always knew 
They say play is endangered  
Like the beluga whale 
Thus, it’s my responsibility 
To tell this tale 
But wait! 
Hunger awaits 
At this evening hour 
I must think! 
Think of something new 
So, play they say! 
And play is  
What shall I do! 
If I play 
I’ll do what’s meaningful to me 
Play affords me time 
To work out conundrums with glee 
Drumming on my conundrums 
I suddenly realized how stress 
Made me so dumb 
Life often pulls us 
To worry about the future 
Or dwell in the past 
But, play holds us present 
A gift that won’t last 
My journey continued 
From my time in term two 
To deepen understanding 
Of holistic practices 
Centralizing play 
As the binding glue 
The glue that  
Connects the body and mind  
The spirt and emotions too  
What lies beneath us  
And what’s above us  
Land under skies so blue  
Part of a whole  
That we must remember  
Play fosters  
One more connection  
And that’s  
To each other 

Suddenly I hear that dreaded query 
What’s for dinner, hon?  
This time I didn’t respond  
Quite so dreary 

You see,  
When your work is play  
This is known by few  
Time evaporates  
Faster than the morning dew  
But the difference is 
The time that you lost  
And can never get back  
Was time well spent  
Keeping growth  
Effectively on track 

My first loose part for this show  
Was a sad, lonely onion  
As I cut into it, I can feel  
The tears comin’  
This onion is important  
It represents scaffolds  
Upon scaffolds  
Inherently in play  
These scaffolds are essential  
For our children to seize the day  
This lonely onion  
Not only is it so fragrant  
It also represents  
A critical play agent 
We act on materials  
As materials act on thee  
For this presentation  
This is my first point of three  
Materials live, speak,  
Gesture, and call to us  
They evoke memories, narrate stories Invite actions, and perhaps  
Even a cuss  
This shift in perspective  
Towards materials  
They speak  
Has implications on how  
Our children will  
Treat Mother Earth  
Whose future seems bleak 

Celery, carrots, turnips,  
And potatoes too  
Fell victim to my chopping block  
As I pondered point number two  
The size change of my veggies  
Illustrates something that all good educators must do  
Is to be mindful of perspective  
When assisting and assessing  
Performance new 

The meat of the matter  
Is my final point tonight  
Comes from the sizzle  
When my beef evoked hindsight 
The sight of the hind  
That score twenty-twenty  
Says to relieve ourselves the guilt  
And play plenty  
For play is a humanizing,  
Respectful approach  
That helps all involved  
Discover something that should never be poached  
And, that is our children’s  
Raison d’etre  
Realized from a joie de vivre  
An invaluable asset 
The loose parts for this show  
Came from nature of sorts  
Can you see?  
How I’ve embodied  
My learning of play from this course?  
So, play is what I did  
As they said I should do  
Cooking was my play  
It transformed my learning  
Into this poetic stew. 

Songs live in the body

by Simardeep Kaur, Student

A song is born from the rhythm under your skin
Sweet sonic honey drips from your lips
When I hear you sing, I taste your soul

At 24

By Kathy Do, Student 

At 24
I never thought I'd have to try so hard
To fit in
To belong
To feel safety 
And warmth 
To feel seen
And understood
To be valued
And cared for
I never thought I'd have to start over
And to be honest
I'm scared,
That I'll never feel these things
Ever again 

Worthy of Love 

By Kathy Do, Student

Because my body is different
Does that not make me worthy of love
Because my arms droop down a little when I hold them up
Does that not make me worthy of love
Because my thighs rub together when I walk
Does that not make me worthy of love
Because the number on the scale isn't what you want it to be
Does that not make me worthy of love
Even though I'm kind,
Even though I'm thoughtful,
Even though I'm selfless, 
Even though I've shared everything with you,
Even though I've stuck with you through the bad,
Even though I've supported you and lifted you up,
Even though I loved you with my whole heart
Even though I've tried and worked hard for you, for me, for us
Does that not make me worthy of love

The Body as Sky

by Paula Rosehart, Faculty Member

Wind, breath, life, gravity, lightness, new life 
Gasping for one last breath...

The wind speaks to me in whispers, floating  

and resting on my tongue.  
Sailing in the air like a kite with no string…severed attachments.  
We travel but the Destination

Unknown…moving upwards and onwards, sure of 
of breath,  
of the effect gravity has on my body and the skin of my students  
and the spirit  
weighing me


and yet,  
lifting me 
UPWARDS TONIGHT THE LIGHT... pathways already mapped out but not  
out of one’s control 
Answers in the  
Wind... winds 
Of change 
Seems so 
But strangely 

Lots of change, turbulence but 
Bernoulli’s principle 
Maintains the lift. 
Is it air pollution that I emanate, a concentration that contaminates 
the corporeal expressions? 
AND listen to the body, to the voice of the body, the inner life 
that regulates my heartbeat, their heartbeat, our breath, 
our sensually shared lives. 
Do not be cut off; do not be deaf to thy body, thy soul, thy desires 
Winds of homecoming…take me,  
Iift me,  
Carry me,  
Help me find shelter  
Shared casa  
A corporeal concerto.


by Sarita Baker, student

Sometimes I feel like a frogwoman
diving deep into scholarship
or my inner-most self.
I swim through the astonishing flora of the mind,
the murky self,
slightly breathless,
I resurface. 
I take comfort and delight
in those other searchers I see in the water,
who, swimming with me
have shown
where and how to look. 

I am becoming.  

I dive down, deeper this time. 
I pull my strong legs together
     and glide through the smooth waters,
     towards the bottom of the lake
     to examine through inquiry.
What can be found here, lurking in the muddy silt of the lakebed?
Or who?

It’s me.  

Bubbling up are aspects of my unvoiced self and identity

–strands of myself–


My frogwoman senses tingle. 
I come up from the depths,
my eyes crest the surface,
I see everything again
my body and legs dangle weightlessly beneath me.  

drawn together by liminal spaces at the shore
I take part in a chorus with other frogs,
we sing in unison to celebrate our journeys
amidst bullrushes, golden sedge and algae

–where significance rests–

animacy vs SPIRIT

by Ramona Elke, Student

What follows is a poem for my youngest son and our stay in hospital while he healed enough to come home without oxygen. 

I wrote it reflecting on the discussion we were having in our class about the concept of animacy. For me this didn’t fit my living reality. I needed to speak to spirit in this work – to call to the burning world, to the inflammation in my son’s body.  I didn’t know what else to do.

I resent these theoretical readings
of this and that
when my youngest child fights to breathe…
airways closing
until he pants in frustration
“I am not made for this timeline
with COVID”
    and smoke
    and war
    and dying waters

my newly 20 year old child
wants to die

because the destruction of everything around him
is choking him to death! 

he is the clarion call
the canary in the coal mine
the nameless
                  multitudinous harbingers of out total demise
because we put money ahead of microbes
and profits ahead of pine tress
                                 and monarch butterflies. 

when you hear the guttural hacking coughs of your child
fighting for air,
the theoretical conversations about our relationships
to All Our Relations
moves from the idea
to big f*****g “P” practice
pretty quickly.

 he pays the price for the greed
and grabbing hands of corporations
who will never know his face
or speak his name
if he chooses to kill himself
because he can’t live a life without breath. 

the trips to the hospital –
over the past 20 years –
the holding tight of the frightened,
exhausted little
            bigger body –
makes pretty real
the theory of inter-species whatever you call it…
he’s living the consequences of the lack of it. 

Descartes is killing my child –
Descartes and
and Musk
and Bezos
and all those oil companies
and lumber companies
and fishing trollers
and mining companies
who lost the ability to see the Spirit of all Beings! 

the lack of “animacy”
     (ugh…even that word is sterile)
the lack of SPIRIT
is killing my child
and millions of other mother’s children. 

we have to move from the safety
of academic understanding of the SPIRITS
and water personhood
or your child could be next…
that is our reality
on this split road to the Eight Fire:
either we give place to All Our Relations
or we kill ourselves pretending they don’t exist.

Oct 23/22

My Dream is to Become a Teacher!

by Amanpreet Nanua, student

Just like my mom was a goalkeeper,  
When I was a preschooler, I pretended to be a teacher.  
I grew up watching her teaching, and it inspired me to be like her,  
I followed in her footsteps and chose to become an essential feature.  
She is always close to my heart, as she passed away when I was seventeen,  
That was one of the saddest moments in my teens.  
I became even more determined and continued in my life to achieve this goal,  
I finished grade twelve, followed by a bachelor’s degree to enroll.  
I felt like I had achieved a very prestigious accomplishment  
And I gave my mom acknowledgement.  
With the Hope to move a step toward a dream,  
The experience is valuable to continue my stream.  
I enjoyed working with passion and empathy toward the students I assisted,  
It was a great honour to be an EA I was admitted.  
I heard that the PQP program is specially designed for foreign-trained teachers,  
Dream alive to become an educator.  
It was a slow and lengthy process, but I patiently followed the procedure.  
Making me more eager,  
To be a teacher.  
The practicum is challenging,  
My strength is creating a community that is safe and welcoming.  
Being a receptive and reflective practitioner,  
The Courage to Teach Palmer Parker.  
I continue developing my language and content knowledge proficiency.  
I am a person who makes mistakes and learns lessons  
To move forward with a positive attitude to become a better person.  
I demonstrated inclusion with my visually impaired student.  
Played fun games with grade eights  
Taught Poetic devices and Crusades.  
Dear Current Occupant by Chelene Knight, I am marking up all day and night.  
Attended the Professional Day,  
Learned how to assess in a professional way.  
Last week Parents-Teacher interview 
Progressed based on students’ work ethics and academic review.  
Few steps away from achieving the goal,  
Ready to get a teacher role.

A Cry for Justice!

PreetAman Kaur Mann, Student

I walked far to connect with Mother womb.
I nestled my heart in her lap.
She listened to me and took my worries away.
I reciprocated the same way.
Earth says, “I am your mother. I will take your pain.”
Water says, “I am your father. I will help you sustain.”
If both of us die, how would “a life” chain?
It is sad how humans’ wisdom and compassion are dead!
It is sad how humans made simple ways so complex.
Look! How human’s heart, health, and peace are so perplexed.
We all can heal with Reverence, Responsibility, Reciprocity, Relevance, Relationship, and Respect!

Humanness: Anti-Laundry

by Joy Inae Kim, Student

cold, wet towels against hot flesh: 
half-fresh; completely organic. 
                    Experience over expectation. 
It's a paradox and cry  
of being woven as human 
warped and wefted 
for private use but entirely on display.   
Woman - rational-being  
disconnected from the body. 
Woven in the mother's womb 
and now, lying outside 
hoping to dry. 
birthed softness and fermenting rawness  
intertwining in mind and experience.  
Pray for less.  
Less of what? 
- anything and everything.  
Soft quilts lovingly sewn by hand. 
Offer spiked kisses like the needles that pricked it together 
moist weaves of fresh cotton 
against increasingly sticky globs of sour flesh. 
Satin pillowcase sworn to control curls,  
                    and cool flesh 
mock with their refracted warmth 
and the mop of dark curls glued to her head. 
Humanness seeps out raw and undignified. 
Wrapped hot and cold 
in a textile pool of humanness - 
                    wishing and waiting to be washed away.

Ephesians 5:15-16

by Katherinne Desormeaux, Student

Look carefully then how you walk,  
not as unwise but as wise,  
making the best use of the time,  
because the days are evil. 

Don’t let your diligence towards chronos 
choke out your attention to kairos.


by Paula Rosehart, faculty member

Teaching parts 
Parts of me that teach 
The parts 
That are  
Of the whole 
But are not whole 
in relationship 
to one another 
To the other parts 
To the whole 
My relationship to self 
My relationship 
Can penetrate 
Into meaning 
To understand and be understood. 
This self also wants to be understood 
For the whole 
For the parts. 
The part of Self that teaches OTHERS 
The self that teaches 
The teacher 
The whole body 
The part of me that relates to the whole class 
through the whole body both inner and outer, 

Teaching in and through the bodymind,  
use the whole body as a locus for learning,  
embodiment of self,  
Listen to the voice of the body  
my inner life that regulates my heartbeat, my breath and sensual life.

The Breath 
This part

my desire to give voice to the inchoate,  
to the inner,  
and to feelings
the ability to express the feelings in various life-giving forms.  
To share the space, fill the space with our breath  
Situating us  
As we exchange oxygen  
Life’s breath 
The mouth 
This part 

My words,  
I desire to speak the truth, authentically encouraging and supporting others in their learning journey. 
All life begins with breath  
Return to the breath  
to connect with the bodyspirit  
to provide moments of pause  
allow my students to breathe in life.

My Feet 
This part 
of me that desires to walk alongside  
my others in their learning journey  
and to provide them with support  
(to carry them when needed)  
and to guide them along their chosen path.

The path that goes in many different directions,  
as will the path of my students,  
as each of them maps out their goals and aspirations and follows the road  
…some the road less travelled.  
helping them to stand tall,  
on both feet,  
grounded to the earth,  
and to self.  
Walking towards the horizon,  
Coming face to face  
With another horizon  
One another’s horizon  
Bridging one with the others  
Part of me and part of you…  
Part of self and part of other  
like a lump of clay,  
We shall acknowledge the “otherness”  
Of one another  
And become a part of one another’s whole.

medicine each to the other

Ramona Elke, student

walking into our wounds
burns out the rotted stuff,
hoping to make space for growth
like forest fires in dead fall.

all these pieces of us,
open and raw,
breathe together,
gasping for air
like shotgun blasts to the chest
leaving all hope of a mutilated recovery
the only thing intact
in this moment.

this strange sight
my vision clear on you
beside me
open and beautiful
holding medicine to me
as I hold medicine to you

it’s the only way:
the path out of assured destruction
and what my Ancestors taught me to do.

if you need healing
be the medicine.

June 5/21

In Quest of Myself

by Yuvleen Sidhu, student

Beginning my journey to understand myself, 
Investigating self-doubt, anxiety, and mood swings I met,
Overwhelmed, frustrated, and tired throughout,
I asked myself from where all these feelings sprout.

Some answers were not obvious at first,
Addressing the trauma I experienced and heard,
Over the years as time flew,
The suffering became inescapable too.

‘GIVE UP’ and ‘IGNORE’ and keep going I thought,
But pieces of my soul were being tossed,
Developing, validating, and emotional support.
Was necessary for nourishment and growth.

Understanding, cognizance, and appreciation I quested,
Self-advocacy, realization, and regulation,
The key components,
On which it all rested.

Finding motivation, and peace was the aim,
Reinforcing appreciation and self-love changed the game,
Everyday I remembered to be kind to myself,
Self-compassion and I became wonderful friends 

Today when I comprehend my journey this far,
Sowing the seeds of support for all,
I knew the beginning had to be with me,
As there is nothing I can do if I grapple and flee. 

morning awakenings 

By Sandeep Kaur Glover, Student

every molecule
every cell
with the vibrational possibility
for revelatory ripening

I remain
radically curious
about the rhythms
that electrify existence
the palpitating tempos
of knowing and unknowing
and the in-between
pulses of paradox
registered by my viscera

meet me with a
poetic momentum
that blunts the edges
of present-day pangs

my cells find levity
when beholding
scents of softness
ushered in by
the gifts of Spring 

fresh light
pours into my bedroom
and embraces my eyelids
with a luminous massage

my pupils attune
the penetrating glow
of a day yet to be known
that is
before my alarm clock
has a chance to squawk
before my mind
is hitched to my phone’s
hectic checklist

I intentionally
a more sluggish cadence
as I consciously imbibe
my first full breath

my chest swells
with a spaciousness
that revives
living memories
nestled in my cellular nuclei
and I experience
my cherished babies’ first cries
my beloved father’s final exhale 

a humble truth
into my cellular purview
and permeates my pores:

that breath is indeed
the essence of
my fragile
that as long as
I sense my breathing
I may choose waking 

the bedroom clock
slows just enough
for me to listen
for one more
boundless minute
to Breath’s cues
and I am drawn
to an inspirited world
behind the windows
and blinds

I take in
the full-bellied
melodies of birdsong
a hearty breakfast
that nourishes 
my heart, mind, and body
like my ancestors’
full-throated Punjabi songs
that buoyed their spirits
in the early 1900s
when they navigated
a three-month long
oceanic journey of uncertainty
to reach the land
on which
I presently stand
three generations later

it has taken
a global pandemic
to teach me
the sacredness
imbued in
morning micro-moments
to teach me that
presence is

each morning
I am reminded that the
nascence of awakening
is first sensed
flesh, breath, and bone
through interstitial places
pregnant with possibility
from which I may
continually tap
Trajectory on the shoulder
to pivot in the direction of
my feral choreographies 

I yearn to live lyrically
to dance fully
with the tunes of
my sensorial soundtrack
the revolving record of
my resonant reality
always in the making
if I choose to awaken