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Originally published on invocations.blog

They were invited 
to take off their shoes and socks
which is usually NOT allowed at school
but this was barefoot day 
in kangaroo class

On the concrete floor the teachers 
had taped down
bubble wrap
(the kind with big bubbles and the kind with small bubbles)
that padding that goes under carpet
and lengths of textured yellow foam–
packing material that could be a topographical map
of another planet

Along one wall 
of the classroom
they laid out a long sheet 
of brown butcher paper
with gallons of bright paint at one end

Each child who wanted to
(which was not everyone–
some built train tracks or 
sculpted play dough or 
did wooden puzzles of 
farm animals and vehicles)
chose red or yellow or blue paint
and the teachers poured a puddle
onto a square of bubble wrap
and the child stepped in

The teachers had to hold the hand 
of each child as they squished their toes
into the paint
because paint on bubble wrap
can be quite slippery
when you’re two or three years old

Walking along the brown paper path
they left small footprints
until they came to the end
where I had filled a big blue basin
with warm water
and they stepped in
and i washed their feet
with my hands
even though they did not know me at all
they leaned on my shoulders
to steady themselves
as I gently lifted one foot 
and then the other
to wipe away the paint

Then I held their hands
as they stepped out of the water
onto a towel 
where I dried their feet
and wiped off smears of paint 
from their ankles that I had missed
(there was still some paint between their toes, 
but I had to keep the line moving)

Soon they would return
having left more footprints
now in blended colors
because eventually all the paint
mixed together

and I would wash their feet again
and now they knew me as the lady
who was there to wash and dry 
their feet
(still between their toes the paint clung)
and they smiled at me 
in wonder, 
so delighted by what they had done

At the end, one of the teachers decided
to walk through the paint and 
down the brown paper path
and one of the little girls
quickly took her hand
to walk beside her and make sure
she was steady

(originally published on invocations.blog)

So much is out of our control
who moves in next door
who doesn’t clean up 
after their dog 
on the sidewalk 
in front of 
your house

When the bus finally arrives
Whether the check
is in the mail
How your boss
behaves
How anyone
behaves

Who lets you in when 
you’re trying to 
turn left out of your 
neighborhood onto 
Columbia Pike 
Who stops when
you’re trying to 
cross the street

Who is having a bad day
and takes it out 
on you
who holds 
the door open for you and
all the kids you’ve brought along
and smiles and doesn’t seem to mind
that they are oblivious to the fact of the door

How viruses mutate
whether the nurse assigned to your room 
has ever taken care of a patient like you before
Whether the people in charge of your country
decide to start a war 
against another country or
against you
Whether someone who looks like you–even a little bit
commits a crime
What DNA you inherit
What your mother did
or did not do while you were 
becoming human
Whether she brought you 
into the world with joy
or despair

Whether you get put in the class
of a kind kindergarten teacher
or one who should have
already retired or found
another steelier line of work 

So much is out of our control 
it is a miracle that we find
at the end of the day that
a single thing we set out to do
has been done

A testament 
to our optimistic persistence 
that we write out
yet another to do list
naively determined to try again
even though
so much is out of our control

(originally published on invocations.blog)

My main skill
on the soccer field
is getting in people’s way

Also I can cheer

I am not fast

No matter how many 
games I play
or watch
I cannot see
what needs to happen
beyond my need to kick
the ball away from me 
toward someone who will 
know better than I do
what to do with it

Nothing that happens 
on a field
or with a ball
or on a court
or in a pool
or on a track
or on a mat
comes easily to me

This is not to say I am weak
because I AM strong
I can be fierce
and determined
and endure
but it is
never
ever
easy

I watch my teammates 
sprint toward the ball
maneuver around our opponents
boot the ball gloriously 
through the air
with what seems 
to me like
no effort at all

I hear them talk about the other team’s 
offense and defense 
and which players 
are the ones 
to watch 
“All we need to do is…” 
they explain
on the sidelines

but I don’t 
really 
understand

still I will jog onto the field 
and see who I need to 
get in the way of 
when she has the ball
and maybe steal the ball
if i’m lucky
and pass it
and cheer loudly 
for whoever
takes it down the field
to score

Screen Shot 2018-03-10 at 10.53.41 PMWe are the broken branches,
splintered by the wind
We are the thousand twigs
scattered across the yard
We are the enormous, unshakeable oak
—apparently we are actually shakeable—
that boomed to the ground, just barely missing the house

Uprooted
leaving a chasm of earth
displacing those who depend on us to live
We are the bird that picks up those twigs to build a new nest
We are the squirrel that finds acorns revealed by the fallen oak

We are the ancient elm propelled by the storm onto a car
Shattering the windshield, crumpling the roof
(we are also the car)
We are the friends who came and cut up the tree
While we were working a weekend shift at our second job
We are the firewood shared with neighbors and the warmth it provides
We are slices of elm for playgrounds and pathways
We are the people who walk or jump across them

We are the wind
We are the calm after the wind subsides

Betsy Rosenblatt Rosso
March 10, 2018

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