None of my own poems since early November;
Not even reading beloved weekly New Yorker.
Poems erupt in my mind, sometimes and often
Patiently waiting until fingers meet keyboard.
Been reading Irish detective novel for Book Club *
And starting this month's book by courageous teen. **
Instead of writing and reading for my own pleasure,
For now, instead, honored to read new grad students'
Diligently-crafted courageous and poignant family histories,
Renditions of students' lives, embedded in theory;
Forging contextualized understanding,
Resulting in light bulbs of recognition;
Evoking soft tears and reclaimed projective responses,
Facilitating forgiveness of self and others;
All in service of addressing unfinished family business,
The most crucial apprenticeship for counselors/therapists.
When fall quarter ends, in two weeks, I will be bereft and adrift,
Like missing characters in a completed and compelling novel:
Missing students' intimate grapplings with histories and futures.
Instead, I will return to my life, grieving and enriched.
Ann Beth Blake
(c) December 4, 2014
* The Likening by Tara French
** I Am Malala by Malala Yousafzai