First Utterings

by Michelle Hudson

  First Utterings

  Michelle Hudson

  First Utterings

  by

  Michelle D. Hudson

  * * * * *

  PUBLISHED BY:

  Michelle D. Hudson on Smashwords

  First Utterings

  Copyright © 2010 by Michelle D. Hudson

  Smashwords Edition License Notes

  This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with. If you're reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then you should return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the author's work. All material is the original work of Michelle D. Hudson.

  * * * * *

  Dedication

  First Utterings is dedicated to my parents, Marion and Alvin. In their own ways, my parents encouraged me to live beyond the measure of other people’s expectations. Even in death, their love and support comfort me.

  This ebook is also dedicated to the people who visit my blog and motivate me to write when I lack confidence and cannot find the precise words. It is through their comments, critiques, and advice that I take the first step to sharing my work with a broader audience. I am eternally grateful for their correspondences via Twitter. Therefore, I extend heartfelt and sincere thanks to: Florence Iyinnbo, Liz Mnari, Khakjaan Wessington, Emmett Wheatfall, Steven M. Grant, Nevone Blount, Theron Kennedy, Evelyn N. Alfred, and Kerryanne Layne. Never underestimate the depth of your kind words.

  I thank each of you but, above all, I thank God for every blessing and every adversary.

  * * * * *

  First Utterings

  A Ballad for My Students

  It may seem corny or even creepy

  But I have loved you since I first saw your name

  Printed on white paper.

  Permanently etched in my mind:

  Henrietta Jones, Erin Plasiance, Maya Jones,

  Christopher Holloway, Justin Jack, Kierra Hart --

  The list is infinite.

  Even when your names escape my tongue,

  Your prepubescent faces remain.

  Stained upon my heart. Unchanged by time.

  There is just something about a teacher's students.

  Once assigned to a specific class,

  The teacher in me quickly searches for your potential,

  Which I am confident exists.

  Offering an earnest, clean slate

  I beseech you,

  Whoever you were last year -- for better or for worse --

  Is no more.

  The door is open.

  And open to more than learning.

  Take advantage of this opportunity to be whom you envision.

  To be the person you desire. To simply

  Be

  Yourself.

  And when you are ready,

  Ready to be more than your mind can comprehend,

  Ready to allow God to work in your lives,

  I will be there as your teacher.

  In the sacred space of the classroom,

  Where I am entrusted with your futures.

  I invite you to reach for greatness, for

  There is just something about a teacher's students.

  Letter of Comfort

  Dear Youth,

  Thought I'd drop a line

  to let you know you've got time.

  So many cares cast upon lack.

  Never fulfilled, you worry that you're fat

  or unattractive or dumb.

  Persecuted by every thought, your life becomes humdrum --

  the same old routine.

  Doubt. Want. Envy. Where's your self-esteem?

  Your will to live rather than sit still?

  Don't tell me you're going to permit this kill!

  Don't you know you're all you need

  to succeed

  and soar beyond your wildest dreams?

  You've lost your way or so it seems.

  Luckily, you can change your fate in an instant.

  Start by relying on the One that the Father sent --

  Jesus the Redeemer. He only asks that you believe

  for the things of this world you shall one day leave.

  As temporary as the flesh,

  this life is but a test.

  So, right now I challenge you

  to be bold, self-assured, and among the few

  to scoff at mediocrity and sloth.

  Baby, you're a boss!

  More than that,

  As you are, you're all that.

  Love always,

  Your Conscious

  The Task

  Twenty-four here.

  Seventeen three times a day.

  Thirteen there.

  Highest in rank; least in number: a mighty eight they say.

  In sum, I am charged with sixty-three souls.

  Responsible for educating them,

  But it always goes beyond books to setting goals.

  Teaching them to stand on God’s word. To trust Him.

  A daunting task indeed.

  Each child a blank slate.

  Oh, but so great is the need!

  How does one fill a hollow vessel? Find the precise bait?

  Soon-to-be doctors, lawyers, athletes, and actors are among the brood.

  Potential sparkles in their eyes,

  Yet resolve and drive are limited and crude.

  Deficient in desire but wroth in attitude.

  Yes, children are the future,

  But they are ignorant of their past.

  Brawny in faith, I know nurture can overcome nature.

  Though the forecast is bleak, I am up for the task.

  The callous child wants freedom to accept love.

  The seemingly dull-witted student blossoms with independence:

  A chance to do-it-by-myself rather than be handled with kid gloves;

  An opportunity to develop worth; to know one’s substance.

  However, it is not easy; that is, the path to success.

  I’ve raised my voice in anger and diminished in esteem.

  Feeling desperate when sincerity becomes cheesy.

  Heightening my frustration and lowering their self-esteem.

  Luckily, it is never too late to start anew.

  The rising sun blots out despair,

  Giving us another chance to win. To be true

  Sirens of Christ’s love ... to clear the air.

  In teaching, the teacher is a student always.

  Discovering that learning is not about reading, ‘riting, and ‘rithmetic alone.

  It’s about valuing a person, not parting ways.

  Assuring him or her that the classroom is everyone’s home.

  Our Fear

  There is something perversely unjust about sending

  children into the world. Away from the

  loving gaze of our watchful eyes. Estranged

  from our protective embrace. For we know,

  that no one can love our babies as

  unconditionally as we do. We

  fear that even at school – the one place that

  should be a second home – our kids will be

  neglected. Abused, devalued, dismissed.

  We expect our precious children to

  learn the ABC’s and 123’s. To

  use “arboreous” in a sentence and

  quote extensively from The Bill of Rights.

  We want this – all of this – even if we

  know that our children speak too loudly.

  Repeat themselves until acknowledged. Wr
ite

  letters backwards while looking directly

  at them. We want more for our children.

  Though they pronounce the silent “k” in "knife"

  or learn better by tapping or standing.

  Unable to sit quietly with feet

  on the floor and eyes facing straight-ahead.

  We want ... No, we demand nothing less than

  the very best from our children’s schools.

  Second to parents and sometimes in place

  of us, children seek the love and safety

  believed to be the foundation of schools.

  Willingly, children hug teachers. Laugh at

  jokes they do not grasp. Ignore remarks that

  weaken the spirit and rob the soul. Yes,

  there is something perversely unjust about sending

  children into the world. Compromising

  their humanity and their dignity.

  Freshmen Year

  Richard – the College Student

  descendant of an African tribe

  whose name i cannot pronounce

  and whose culture i am unfamiliar

  black but not as the night

  more akin to a tinge

  of creamy caramel latte

  american through and through

  breathing life into every patriotic syllable

  of francis scott key’s battle hymn

  yet i am seen as something

  so very foreign to me

  labeled the degenerate, the robber, the nigger

  standing on the outside of your judgment

  scholastic prowess ignored

  potential and worth underestimated

  accordingly, you do not understand why

  a grade of “b” is not good enough for me

  whom you regard as the dark one

  for your sake, one day you may see,

  that the black man – even in diversity –

  is merely a man and as worthy as any man

  Soul Food

  My mother wore patches of white flour

  as badges of honor.

  From her ruby cheeks

  to her sweat-stained blouse,

  the light dusting promised

  a feast

  of fried chicken, collard greens,

  and pecan pie.

  A simple dinner in our home

  served with fanfare of the heart.

  Lapping the juices

  from my shiny fingers,

  I saw love mirrored in Mama's eyes –

  chestnut orbs that hid

  the pain encased in her heart.

  Always sitting the table for three.

  Hoping that might be the night

  dad returned

  to us …

  to her.

  Before Dawn

  Slumber dissipates as dawn approaches.

  Quiet sails along the cool breeze

  Pouring from the window ajar.

  Dew dampens the room

  You lie content and unaffected.

  Tangled locks – dark and soft –

  Repose upon the pillow.

  I kiss your tiny forehead

  And pray to the remaining stars above.

  My inadequacies aside,

  Let me be a decent mother

  To my only son. My only priority.

  The heart captures this moment.

  Keeping worry at bay. My love,

  Enjoy your dreams before daybreak

  Wrangles your bliss and it is time

  For us to brave the world.

  The Annabel Lee Conspiracy

  Who knew Poe's beautiful Annabel Lee?

  Through and through, the ideal mortal lover.

  Unfortunately, she died by the sea.

  Body gone from this world, her soul hovered.

  Distraught and wounded, part of Poe died, too.

  He lived for the love of that girl -- so fair.

  Shattered by her death, Poe knew what to do.

  By god, he'd drag those angels by their hair!

  But, did the winged seraphs kill Annabel

  Or did she fall prey to Poe's psychosis?

  Whether by pen or strife, it was Poe's hell

  That took Annabel's life without notice.

  Ah, Poor Mr. Poe. An ill-fated chap

  With the grave stain of guilt upon his lap.

  Football Sundays

  Rise before the pelican to give God his due.

  In the heart of the Crescent City beyond the bayou,

  We peel off club rags and reach for church attire.

  Praise the Lord and watch the Saints baptize foes in pigskin fire.

  From heaven, “Who Dat!” alights the sky in a black and gold hue.

  Pregnant with Pride

  pregnant with pride

  you shrink

  from responsibility

  of your reckless and callous

  words

  Latrine Epiphany

  Regurgitation spews forth.

  A wasted life

  Expelled.

  Clearing the path

  For unfettered renewal.

  The Plea

  You say you’ll give me the world.

  Really? The world? Can you do that?

  Start smaller. May be a wide-brim hat

  For a beach side walk to watch the water pool and swirl.

  I want much but need very little:

  Your kiss, your touch, your attention, your love.

  Yes, it’s that simple! As simple as a hug.

  Love can be complex but it’s no riddle.

  Shall we start with truth? With the real?

  Save the, “Roses are red / Violets are blue.”

  I’d rather get to know you.

  Be brave. Show me how you feel.

  Fragrances, flowers, and fanfare are nice

  But honesty, sincerity, and subtlety are better.

  Do anything but please ... let communication tether

  Our union, allowing a genuine connection to take flight.

  So what will it be?

  Will you risk giving of yourself instead of the world?

  It is all that’s needed for this girl.

  In the glint of the sunrise, I await you by the sea.

  Seductive Sadie

  Everyman’s mistress, they pine over Seductive Sadie.