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.