Teaching Tools
My brother, am I allowed to work less
on reactions, which are taxing
for me to manage in the moment?
For instance, did I hear you correctly
when you said Buddha is
a four-letter word?
Did I understand you
when you said
Ahmaud Arbery wasn’t murdered?
Do I have to be on the same timeframe
that everyone else is on?
Am I allowed to go for a walk, stop
and enjoy all that any moment has
to offer me, such as a shot of Bailey’s
in a fresh cup of hot chocolate?
The look of concentration
in a muscular acrobat’s eyes,
as he throws a chair
and a petite woman
in the crisp December air,
one after the other?
Am I allowed to marvel
the radiant smile
on the woman’s face
when she lands in the chair,
his ripped arms as still
as the lake behind the stage?
Am I allowed to listen
to my mouth
when it suggests zeppoles, especially
if the powdered sugar melting
on my delighted tongue
helps me to understand
that it’s better for me
to feed my curiosity
instead of my frustration?
——-
Rapini
Do I have to eat anything
that makes me sick,
even if it’s something
that other people enjoy?
Take broccoli rabe, for instance,
which is also known
as rapini: a delicacy
in my family. I was
a child the first time
I tried it. Dreadful.
It was as slimy
as an eel, and all
of the garlic in the world
could not mask
its bitter taste,
or keep me
from sprinting
to the bathroom:
“the Throne Room,”
as my father called it,
faster than anyone could
say “Mangia.”
When I emerged
from the Throne Room,
my father put me to bed
and interrogated me
like the cop
he wanted to become
but couldn’t, because
he was too short.
How could I not
like rapini? Why
did I have to be
different? I shrugged
my shoulders.
My father mumbled
“Good night, Joefish”
as he turned off the light,
a crown of neon green stars
aglow on the ceiling.
——-