Respiration

autumn of last year,
I found myself watching my babies
breath, in sleep, in dream

deep, cadenced pulls of oxygen
fueling all parts of their frames,
their beautiful hearts keeping time

children’s eyelashes soft, curled
the color of milk chocolate,
individuated so perfectly against the

delicate skin of their cheeks,
I wept as their chests rose and fell
at the joy of watching them breath

constant, paced, churning, these fist-sized
hearts, muscling, pushing life-giving nutrients
through their precious, peaceful forms

at night, it gave me peace,
the assurance that everything was
alright, the play of pulmonary veins filling

with nitrogen, argon, all mixed in with O2
being sent to the heart from the lungs
hearts filling the upper left atrium

the heart, house of refreshment, dispersing
the blood rich with food back into the body
through the lower left ventricle

this circle saved me, literally, again and again
imagining how the autonomic, metronomic
rhythms of the heart allowed them to rest

into dream, into sleep, into measured
breaths, into the rising of the inner
oceans, breathing peace

Hippocampus

When my students check out a book from the library
I often encourage them to make a bookmark
Any ratty scrap of paper will do, a plus if it is neon pink
We use this slip of paper to mark where we have
Read, where we are reading, where we have been,
Where we are going. The brilliant thing is that having
A placeholder, having a signpost, having a demarcation
To show how far you have come and how far you must go
Is another kind of marker. It is a memory marker. In print,
In pulpy bound cellulose and black ink, hold in your hand,
Sniff with your nose, the real goodness of paper is that
The brain creates even more memory pins for this
Medium. So now, you are reading a book, but your
Brain even remembers, memorizes, the geography
Of the page. Where did you see that perfect sentence,
At the top of page 67, How far into the book was the
Rising action, the falling sequence, your brain takes in the
Terrain of the page—the paragraph, the thickness of the
Pages you’ve consumed thus far, becomes another kind of
Topography. So intricately is our existence connected–
Touch, sight, smell, taste—all being remembered
Brain cells, neurons, communicating with each other
Regarding the climax of the story, through an elegant
Electrochemical system. A change in the electrical charge of
One cell as you read and integrate the signs and symbols
On the page into a larger story, triggers the release of
Chemicals called neurotransmitters across synapses.
The neurotransmitters are then taken up by dendrites of the
Neuron on the other side of the synapse where they
Trigger electrical changes in that cell. The geography
that print books, and bookmarks represent only strengthens
This circuit, a story arc sweeping into the hippocampus as a
Permanent resident in some synapse of your 100 billion neurons

Heart
“So much held in a heart in a lifetime.” -Brian Doyle

I won’t ever be a surgeon
But sometimes I imagine a
heart beating in a human
under the purposeful glare of
a surgical lamp. And I
have a moment to inspect
this beautiful organ with
my own eyes as it pushes
blood throughout the body
I can visualize the thick membrane
of the ventricular septum–
lengthening and shortening in
precise time, the casing
which divides the right
and left heart, the chambers,
the heart walls, muscles,
really, that send the blood
coursing through your body
with constant contract-relax reflexes
a miracle with every beat

Nervous System

I am trying to get my words wrapped around my autonomic nervous system
I am trying to describe how it feels to see a photo where I once existed and have been erased
I am trying to describe the pang, the thousand natural shocks that flesh is heir to
As Hamlet intoned, unlike Hamlet, I’m not trying to leave this life. Here’s my stab.

When I’m in fight or flight, it is harder for me to wrap my words around my nervous system.
It’s those moments when I could really just use a hug– skin to skin, arms enclosing
my body, keeping me safe and calm, a quilt. Instead, in flight I feel as though the
part of my body that is involved in the flying or fighting is nearly numbed, gone, absent

For example, if a man walks in on his wife making love to someone else, his brain, right behind
His eyes may become so activated that it feels as though a horse bucked his skull from the
Inside, like eating far too much pea-colored wasabi paste in one bite, which actually
happened to me, I’m sorry to return to sushi, but it was my first time, and BAM!

Right between the eyes, if I believe that I am being abandoned, left, discarded, my entire lower gut is activated with one million energy worms, I crawl with that nearly breathless, tingle that radiates
Through the rest of my body as I try to wrap my words around my nervous system for safety
But, in fact, I should probably lean in. Accept. Sit with it. Just the other day, when a pang really

Struck me, took me by surprise, in my solar plexus, and then the breath catching, the spin,
And the whole system, consciousness, in shock, straight from the amygdala, I thought, well good,
I think this gives me the chance to decide what comes next. The brain through the body gets
first dibs on the experience, but I am learning to quiet my reaction, trace the source

Of the shock, I am trying to get my words wrapped around my autonomic nervous system
And what I am telling you is that I am trying to describe how it feels, so that I can hijack my hypothalamus, but that is impossibly ridiculous, that my wish is that no will ever have to
feel this way again, which might be the end of our species, so let’s keep flying out of our bodies

See

Have you ever watched someone learn something closely? With your raw, open eyes, irises spiked wide with color, this is where miracles lie. In my classroom, students flow in and out of the physical space all day. Water. But there are moments that transcend the quirky ephemera we plaster the walls to increase engagement. Air. Like the quiet that falls on the room when you discuss the concept that maybe Thomas Aquinas was right, and you could come face-to-face with the divine on the pages of an essay you read in English class. Mountain. Perhaps you witness the that burst of energy come across someone’s being when they lift the palm sander at the finish of the final face of the joinery for their rustic bureau in woods class, when the firing is finished in the pottery studio, when the piece of silver has been hammered to perfection. Fire. Those words and worlds and ways will always be part of your fiber, your sinew, your resilience, your learning in a sorrowful, beautiful world.