When adults asked high school me what I wanted to be,
I told them I wanted to be a journalist,
because I thought that meant being a writer with a paycheck.
Now, when friends act surprised at how many questions I ask,
I remind them I’m a journalist – and they wonder if that part of me ever turns off.
It doesn’t.
Why turn off your why?
By faith alone
Today
26 people died in a church
A young reporter stood in front of crime scene tape and said,
We don’t yet know
We know
We know Vegas
and Charleston
Aurora
and Sandy Hook
We know
Bump stocks
and neo-Nazis
Assault rifles
and the mentally ill
We know
At work my boss asked each of us
to pick a song that represented friendship
And my colleague picked a hymn
It’s a song I know
Today
all I want is for someone to come join me
in the silence
Tomorrow
the newspapers will publish photos
the pundits will proffer solutions
the politicians will pray
Tomorrow
and tomorrow
and tomorrow
Consider the following an attempt to break out of my own filter bubble and to honestly consider how a young woman, newly made very powerful, feels about her father.
The poem below is an experiment in persona poetry. I love reading persona poetry (and using it to teach students about point of view), but sometimes I find writing persona poetry to be problematic. I think that’s because I’ve put so much time into reminding myself that we all have our own filters and therefore it’s nearly impossible to truly know another’s mind; writing in someone else’s voice can feel presumptuous. However, it is an excellent way to build empathy. Consider the following an attempt to break out of my own filter bubble and to honestly consider how a young woman, newly made very powerful, feels about her father. *Photo Credit on featured image: Michael Vadon
Ivanka Trump, on my father
My father trusts me
He trusts me with the family business
just as much as he trusts my brothers
He trusts me to be in the room
He trusts me to meet with foreign leaders
He trusts that I will be successful
that I will give him good advice
He trusts that I will be respectful
Respectful of my father
Respectful of my husband
Respectful of my chosen religion, in all its beauty
Written for Rattle’s Poets Respond series
Rattle’s Poets Respond is an attempt to return poetry to its storytelling roots by providing a space for poets to respond to current events in near real time. I submitted this piece in response to the reports of Aleppo’s fall. This poem owes a huge debt to the reporters who inspired it, in particular this report Bilal Abdul Kareem filed for Al Jazeera.
Click here to read the poem.
To the highest, hardest glass ceiling – and those who cracked it
The poem below is an experiment in persona poetry. I love reading persona poetry (and using it to teach students about point of view), but sometimes I find writing persona poetry to be problematic. I think that’s because I’ve put so much time into reminding myself that we all have our own filters and therefore it’s nearly impossible to truly know another’s mind; writing in someone else’s voice can feel presumptuous. However, it is an excellent way to build empathy. Consider the following a paean crossed with an elegy (although I’m reluctant to use that latter word, knowing her work is far from over).
Remember that
She sheltered me
And so did my father
When I was a kid
And they wanted me to be free
To be a kid,
Regardless of the color of my house
You said, “When they go low, we go high.”
I’ve been trying.
It’s just really hard for me to stay neutral in this election.
I could teach an entire class on understatement with just that sentence.
This year, the politics are personal.
I can’t listen to a presidential candidate call for a ban on all Muslims, knowing I went to Prom with a Muslim from Pakistan.
I can’t listen to a candidate call Mexicans rapists, knowing all the times my students have been ecstatic to go home to visit Mexico.
I can’t listen to a candidate call immigrants criminals, knowing how many times I’ve seen a student break down because they can’t afford college without papers.
I can’t listen to a candidate call sexual assault “locker room talk,” when I know 1 in 4 college-age women in this country have been sexually assaulted. I teach high school. Sometimes I can hear that clock ticking. Sometimes it feels like a bomb is about to go off.
Only when I’m dancing do I feel this free …
This one’s for the girls
Fierce
Fabulous
And forgotten
By those who think it takes royal blood to be a Queen
Those who don’t understand that true Pride is earned
Through jeers and judgment
This is for those whose love is a battlefield
And those who were there
When the beats turned to bullets
This is for those who are always on point
Those who slay
We want to remember you that way
Free
From the hatred and the fear
Still dancing
Elizabeth DeOrnellas 