Google knows a thousand very specific things about my eyes because I’m trying to figure out if I’m dying:



Yesterday was eleventh winter.

The snow – fat clumps –

would be satisfying marvels in January

but might well be weighed by its gravitational pull on my heart in April.


The last time I went outside it was still winter, so I couldn’t find my keys

when finally it came time to rise from an hours-long zoom,

like a spring bud pushing up from cold mud.

They were buried in my parka’s pocket from the time before. When it was winter.


Doctor Google suggested I might be dying from stabbing pain behind my eye.

So an emergency appointment in a pandemic.

The prescription: Stand up. Go outside. Look far. Hope.

Presently myopic, the end indistinct.

Zoom, scroll, play “a thousand ways the world ends” (works best late at night).


Jack Pine seeds lie dormant;

fire razes, lays flat the forest, invites previously-impossible renewal.

But not without quiescence.

And not without fire.


Poetry Month

  April is poetry month. This month we celebrated by reading and writing poetry and playing with figurative language.

The poetry of Shel Silverstein inspired us to write many different kinds of poetry: list poems, concrete poems, rhyming poems and epigrams.

Today we read the book “Green” by Laura Vaccaro Seeger, which inspired us to explore color and to create interesting imagery. I read the story and students took talk time to tell one another an interesting sentence about what they saw. Then students used paint cards to write a colour-inspired poem. I was really excited to see how engaged they were in writing.



I would definitely say that this was a success.