I call myself a Teacher

but today,

the horse called me

Observer.

~~

It said, stand back.

Watch how I gather

unruly energy

and place it,

quiet, but white hot

in their bellies.

~~

Watch how I pluck

unintelligible words from the air

and make them clear.

~~

Opaque hearts,

now transparent.

Inscrutable eyes,

open.

~~

Observe, teacher,

how I take the shy

the loner

the heartbroken

the sad

and lean into them –

filling the dark holes,

demanding presence.

~~

Making them forget for a moment

their cuts

their violence

their hunger.

~~

And so, today, I am not a teacher.

Like Amos,

“I am not a prophet,

nor am I the son of a prophet,

but I am a herdsman,

plucking wild figs.”

~~

I’m gathering their stories.

Hold out your hand -

I’m giving them to you.