The Language of Suffering
My dad went weird when Nonna Lucia died.
It was like his sense of humor died with her.
He still patted my back and called me buddy;
we still played catch while the mosquitoes rose.
He still rubbled my head with his knuckles.
But a muscle had tightened in his jaw
I’d never seen before, and the silence
between us in the front seat of the van
sometimes made me turn on the radio.
I knew he loved his mom. We all loved her.
But when he smiled now, his eyes still looked sad,
all these months after Nonna’s funeral.
Maybe there was some treasure he’d wanted,
that she gave to one of his brothers in her will?
Maybe he’d wanted some of the furniture?
But he got the embroidered tablecloth
Nonna and Nonno brought to America,
which she spread out at family festivals
under platter after platter after platter.
He wasn’t a movie dad with another woman:
He was an oldish husband who’d just moved away,
a dad who didn’t hear you when you spoke.
Me and Mom and Theresa could see his pain,
but we don’t know the language of suffering.
The Language of Suffering
My dad went weird when Nonna Lucia died.
It was like his sense of humor died with her.
He still patted my back and called me buddy;
we still played catch while the mosquitoes rose.
He still rubbled my head with his knuckles.
But a muscle had tightened in his jaw
I’d never seen before, and the silence
between us in the front seat of the van
sometimes made me turn on the radio.
I knew he loved his mom. We all loved her.
But when he smiled now, his eyes still looked sad,
all these months after Nonna’s funeral.
Maybe there was some treasure he’d wanted,
that she gave to one of his brothers in her will?
Maybe he’d wanted some of the furniture?
But he got the embroidered tablecloth
Nonna and Nonno brought to America,
which she spread out at family festivals
under platter after platter after platter.
He wasn’t a movie dad with another woman:
He was an oldish husband who’d just moved away,
a dad who didn’t hear you when you spoke.
Me and Mom and Theresa could see his pain,
but we don’t know the language of suffering.
For National Poetry Month in April, we are sharing poetry collections and books about poetry by authors who share history, culture, beauty, and emotion through their work. Poetry Month – Middle School Titles Poetry Month – High School Titles
All reading communities should contain protected time for the sake of reading. Independent reading practices emphasize the process of making meaning through reading, not an end product. The school culture (teachers, administration, etc.) should affirm this daily practice time as inherently important instructional time for all readers. (NCTE, 2019) The Penguin Random House High
Translanguaging is a communicative practice of bilinguals and multilinguals, that is, it is a practice whereby bilinguals and multilinguals use their entire linguistic repertoire to communicate and make meaning (García, 2009; García, Ibarra Johnson, & Seltzer, 2017) It is through that lens that we have partnered with teacher educators and bilingual education experts, Drs.
“Books are a students’ passport to entering and actively participating in a global society with the empathy, compassion, and knowledge it takes to become the problem solvers the world needs.” –Laura Robb Research shows that reading and literacy directly impacts students’ academic success and personal growth. To help promote the importance of daily independent
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