Assorted Poems

By: Bradford Washburne

To the Girl in the Back of my Math Class

I know some things in life

Are not as simple as 2+2

Or bunny loops and tying shoes

When the teacher calls your name

And hears no response

Your silence is not an act of nonchalance

While the teacher asks about long division

Your mind can only focus on the sadness hidden

From the division of your own family

How are you supposed to focus on numbers in a problem

When numbers are no more than

The sheep you spend counting during sleepless nights

And your lack of participation, not raising hands

Is not an act of defiance

But a plea to not have to raise yourself

But no one hears

And no one knows

About the girl who sits in the back of class

All it takes is one voice of concern

Because what is a math problem to you

Is not so simple to someone else

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To the Boy in the Front of my Math Class

Sometimes I wish life

Was as simple as 2+2

Just like when you ask a question

That you already knew

I see these things from the back of class

How you tap your leg

Or walk into the room last

But I know your life is not as simple as it seems

That every answer is just a deflection of the fear

That one day you might not know

That one day

The thing everyone has loved you for

Might not matter

But you still do

My voice isn’t always heard

But being loud isn’t always about volume

What matters is that we listen to the silent voice

The wind of the unspoken

To the boy in the front of my math class

I know you understand

Our problems are deeper than numbers

But what can we do if 2+2 does not equal 4

_______________________________________________________________________________

Starting Ground

Sometimes I think rough beginnings

Are the only way I can be happy

If I don’t start empty

There is no void to fill

But sometimes I wish I could wake up on the right side of the bed

And not have to worry about what is left

The responsibilities that might follow

Hopeful thinking isn’t really my thing

Because everything has always worked out in the end

But that only makes me worry

About when my journey is over

When there there is no rough start to follow

Will I be happy with the end?

_______________________________________________________________________________

Confetti Dreams

Here is the endless street

A crossing for children

Marked by a shadow-dance of dreams

Children

Trapped by time’s unerring hand

Holding hands

Foothold, Fingerhold, Mindhold

But NO!

They say

These children say no

To the stranger trying to break them

Tanks of Terror

That can make of good bones

A skeleton, tattered and feathered

But like any bird, trapped between buildings

There will be a palace of outstretched arms

Because children build from ruins

Inside of them

A dense nugget of dream

See

These children understand

To stand as a rebel

To never let go

Of the confetti that makes this place beautiful

For every broken smile

Child

And in between

A dense nugget of dream

Confetti already working inside

We live in a world where confetti is still alive

Where after all these years of indifference

The children can take root

From that confetti working inside