When Teaching Broke Me
It happened slowly,
then not so slowly
I could have stayed
for my two Yasmeens
One was lighter than the wind,
which on a whim,
could carry her away
on a wish
Yasmeen was lighter than air
in a puffy pink coat
in September
My first Yasmeen
would smile at me
and reaffirm my life
in a moment of doubt
Her mother made me Karkadeh
I drank it lovingly
My Yasmeens were as different
as beauty can be
That teaching could just be
teaching;
the kids and me,
with our shadows chasing us
constantly
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