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