pictured words

a simple pairing of pictures and poetry

Tag: WFI American School for Women

I am

Photo by Designecologist on Pexels.com

“I am”

It is a small book –
just seventy-five pages
cover to cover.

As the pages turn,
the voices of brave women
speak in harmony

using a language
they did not grow up speaking;
now trying to learn.

Here, they’ve been given
the opportunity to
escape grave danger.

Their stories speak of
the safety afforded them
here in the U.S.

They came here via
invitation.  Legally.
and “through the front door.”

And though they miss home,
they “know” they are safe. Some for
the very first time

in their entire life.
They enrich our lives with their
smiles and love.

They pay their taxes.
They obey our laws. They are
happy to be here.

But there is a “but.”
The safety they felt sure of
when they wrote, “I am”

swiftly disappeared.
From one semester of school
to the next, it’s gone.

The front door has slammed.
Families are being shoved
out through the back door.

Insecurity
is gripping them once again.
We’ve become lawless.

They’ve become victims
of we who invited them,
then pointed fingers

shouted “criminal!”
and decided they are a
danger to our lives.

We have no reason.
They have no recourse
.

 © Marie Elena Good 2025

Teaching ESL (English as a Second Language) to Possible U.S. (United States) Citizens

Teaching ESL (English as a Second Language) to Possible U.S. (United States) Citizens

We are too different to unite.
I will never be convinced
Integration is possible.
I see
Insurmountable hurdles.
Listen: Don’t be fooled into thinking these are
U.S. citizens in the making

© Marie Elena Good 2025

A reverse poem.  Now read from the bottom line to the top.

AFFECT

Photo by Turgay Koca on Pexels.com

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.

ON MY CALENDAR

Photo by Bich Tran on Pexels.com

On My Calendar

Mondays
On Mondays we enjoy a meal
with family, and it’s ideal –
even when the food ain’t great
that sits there smirking on our plate.
The love we share is the appeal.

Tuesdays
Tuesday mornings I’m content
immersed in weekly blessed event
of breakfast with each granddaughter.
Our one-on-one constructs a cotter,
bonding hearts in time well spent.

Thursdays
My school-year Thursdays are the chance
to teach my heart the steps to dance
with women I would not have known,
and through whose cultures I have grown.
Their love is huge.  My life, enhanced.

Fridays
Each final Friday, there’s a date
for cousin’s lunch, and I can’t wait.
We’ll keep it up year after year,
won’t let whatever interfere.
It keeps us bonded, and that’s great!

Saturdays
Any college football day
tends to chase my blues away.
(Except for a specific blue:
that one with maize that passes through.)
Love my scarlet and my gray!

Sundays
Sunday mornings spent in church
singing, praising, heartfelt search
through all the evidence of God
who we can know, and see, and laud.
(Sometimes Keith’s out catching perch. 😉)

Days unnamed, not unembraced,
leave ample time to just be graced
with quiet time
to read or rhyme,
or stuff that’s hard, but must be faced.

© Marie Elena Good 2024

I spent more time on these little pieces than it looks like. They need polishing, but at least the gist is there. 😉

PLEASE, NO MORE AFTERS

Photo by Mathias Reding on Pexels.com

A Ukrainian student,
who speaks nearly no English,
brings a map and photos
to class. 

The map shows her home,
and its proximity to Russia.
Her quivering finger moves across it
showing us her escape route.
Border-to-border, across Ukraine.
Romania.
Germany.
The U.S.A.

She moves from photo to photo.
“Our central park.”
Before,
and after.

“Capitol building.”
Before,
and after. 

Her house,
out of photo’s view by centimeters,
“here,” her finger rests. 
The building in view,
demolished. 


Her house? 
Likely an “after.” 

© Marie Elena Good, 2022

#apictureisworthathousandwords
#prayforUkraine