Photo by Ahmed akacha: https://www.pexels.com/photo/men-holding-his-daughter-on-a-campsite-19263993/
When I come home,
I lock my door.
When you arrive,
I’m committed to open my door
and unlock my heart.
© Marie Elena Good 2024
She entered my class
in purple, with her purple
phone, and purple coat.
Obviously, this
is her favorite color,
and it becomes her.
She is tall, and has
an elegance about her,
along with a wit.
But the shimmering
gold of her heart was revealed
when she used her phone’s
translator app to
say, “Teacher, if I could, I’d
give you my own eyes.”
I’m not sure what the
color of humbleness is,
nor of gratitude,
but I imagine
the shades of them reflected
in my complexion.
© Marie Elena Good 2024
This is true. Last Thursday, this lovely refugee soul entered my class, an absolute vision in purple. Due to recent surgery from a retina tear and detachment, as well as detached macula, I cannot see from my right eye. She hugged me, and then used her translator app to speak this most sincere, generous sentiment. I couldn’t hold back tears. Amazing heart.
AT RISK OF INCONVENIENCE
When is the time to
ask, “From what are you fleeing?”
to decipher which
response sits well with
your belief system of what
is acceptable?
A conventional
distance between bombs fallen,
and their child’s bedroom?
Number of women
kidnapped for sexual gain?
Number of children?
The amount of food
unavailable to feed
themselves? Their children?
Are there adequate
words to set your mind at ease
that this person’s plight’s
perilous enough
to justify leaving home,
setting themselves at
risk in different ways
than what they feel forced to leave –
forced to escape – now?
To make certain their
endangerment matches your
own definition?
And when, in your thoughts,
is it acceptable to
bomb a hospital?
Perhaps when evil
lurks beneath? Then, innocents
are expendable?
What gives you enough
luxury of ease of mind
to give your thumbs up?
© Marie Elena Good 2024
So, at what point does one decide to flee the land where fruit and spice speak Grandma’s tongue? Where generations of their family breathe music, art, and song as through shared lung? This land (their land) where memories are made: The land that births their children’s love of life, where laughter laughs, and prayers-in-sync are prayed, with rooted norms for husband and for wife. At what point does their home feel foreign-born, so much so that they have no choice but leave? How long ‘til all their colors wilt war-torn? How long until their soul does naught but grieve? At what point can one let go of what was, to feel at home in land of unlike flaws? © Marie Elena Good, 2022
There are the teachers
equipped with knowledge, and the
skills to impart it
There are the teachers
with a passion for learning
that is contagious.
There are the teachers
who delight in (and well-wield)
books, maps, and whiteboards.
I am gifted with
none of that. But I love, and
love assists learning.
© Marie Elena Good, 2022
They come to my city from distant lands –
Homelands.
Their reasons, many and varied –
most, too heartrending to ponder.
They arrive parched –
a desiccation born of dearth and death.
Thirst knows no race, class,
religion, or language.
It knows only burning need for
a well of hope from which to dip.
The ache of a woman,
isolated in a strange new residence
and unable to connect to life-giving resources,
drowns in unanswered questions.
She holds no words to pose them,
and no near ear to hear
her broken attempts. She thirsts
at the well of understanding.
The profound pain of parents
daily delivering their children into
the hands of strangers
who struggle to teach and to reach
these children who hear only indistinct sound,
and see the blank stare of confusion.
Parents, unable to engage, thirst
at the well of advocacy.
The fatigued fret of the soul weak with illness
who has no visible path to wellness.
The one whose world is silent,
limited, and invisible. This soul thirsts
at the well of wellbeing.
The yearning of a man
to make known his skills,
let alone make use of them to provide
as he once did. To make known his intent
to be self-sufficient. To be quickly found to be
hardworking and capable. He thirsts
at the well of opportunity.
The deep craving of the foreigner
to make known their honorable intentions.
To prove they are grateful and giving;
loving and fun-loving; brave and tender. They thirst
at the well of accurate perception.
They arrive parched from a common thirst –
a thirst ready to be quenched
in a city flowing with Water for Ishmael.
© Marie Elena Good, 2021
In Genesis 21:14-20, we read of Hagar and her son Ishmael, who were sent to the desert to die. God heard the boy crying from thirst, and He provided a well from which to drink. Water for Ishmael is named for this scripture passage. WFI’s intent is to quench the thirst of the “strangers in the desert,” by following the instructions of Leviticus 19:34: “You shall treat the stranger who sojourns with you as the native among you, and you shall love him as yourself, for you were strangers in the land of Egypt: I am the Lord your God.”
If you would like to give to our mission: https://waterforishmael.kindful.com/
She spent the entire afternoon asking me relevant, insightful questions about the school’s students, staff, and mission. How do you teach babies and preschoolers a second language? What countries do they come from? What languages are spoken? Which is the most common? (She made note of Arabic, and couldn’t wait to ask her mom if she can begin studying it via Rosetta Stone or Duolingo). Would I please contact the volunteer coordinator to see if it is acceptable for a ten-year-old to volunteer to help the adults care for the children? Are masks required? Is there a dress code? Is there a form her parents could complete and sign, giving her permission to volunteer there? Even if they can’t let her volunteer yet, can she take a tour of the school, and meet the staff? Oh, and would I please tell them she is mature for her age?
Eager native sprout
seeks to share energy to
root and bloom transplants.
© Marie Elena Good, 2021
We walk around the park’s pond,
eyeing mallards and geese,
clear blue skies.
Tree blossoms of white, pink, and purple
dapple sunlight on the greening grass
and manmade path at our feet.
Lilacs scent the breeze,
as does the pleasing sound of
improving English
from my brave and delightful friend.
She speaks of her sweet/smart girls,
(the youngest of which, with her large dark eyes and
dark golden curls, holds tight her momma’s hand,
and her little bag of chips),
Syrian war,
and lost and scattered family.
© Marie Elena Good, 2021
In response to Robert Lee Brewer’s 2021 April PAD Challenge: Day 14 – Writer’s Digest (Day 14: Write a “from where you’re sitting” poem.)
Countless countries,
make-ups, cultures, and creeds
learning the language
through laughter and love.
© Marie Elena Good, 2019
pictured words 