classroom full of poetry

Today was a complete accomplishment.
As the semester is wrapping up, today was our last African Literature class with the beloved and endearing Dr. Mukakanya- gem of a man…oversized clothes, big glasses, a cane, and a voice that makes you want grandchildren just so that he can read them fairytales and short stories. The encouraging and enthusiastic professor and lover of teaching that he is dedicated this afternoon's class to letting us "perform" pieces with the whole class. Poetry was invited, short stories, even plays- though he had little faith that we could accomplish a whole play in a semester's time… the classroom that has been our academic prison all semester (hosting every USP class that we have and thus trapping us time and time again daily in it's four blank, uninspired, white walls and ink splotch under the chalkboard which never quite gets erased) today breathed life for the first time- excited, inspired, intimate LIFE expressed - raw and vulnerable- in our rhymes, our cadences, our lines, our voices. It was fantastic to have "sharing time" with the whole class. And moment of all moments- today I did the unthinkable. At the end of class, when I could no longer remain hidden in the back corner- try as I might- the professor called on me to come share with the class. I frantically whipped out a poem I had jotted down in the middle of my beloved, worn, weathered, leather journal- and I read aloud the piece that was hidden between doodles and prayers and notes which I never thought would emerge to others' ears. I've never read anything I've written (that's that personal or…poetic) aloud. Ever.
Mark Corey- the token writer of our group whom I had confided in about my shyness of my own written words- was proud and beaming like a father should at his child's every recital, sports game, award ceremony, anything.
It was exhilarating.

My heart grows fonder, still, but weak-
weak from the always present
state of caring
observing
feeling.
When this, my heart, was designed
did the Craftsman know
to what aches it would be subjected-
what great cares it would carry?
But carry it must
must carry on, carry on
on to the finale,
on to the finish line (then)
line them up!
All the burdens we've carried
(my heart and i)- all this way…
that was the only way… to carry the loss
carry the pain
carry the cross
carry the shame
carry the joy
joy to the world,
world without end:
You carried my heart, again and again.