Engaged or empowered? Am I allowing my students to love and own what I teach?

A student writes a poem about writing a poem:

Venice

Standing in an hourglass,
Sand funnels beneath my heels.
I dig them in
desperately, frantically.
But swirling doesn’t stop,
only funnels faster,
down, down
to nothing.

My mind gets blanker –
blanker than the page
I’m forced to fill.
The timer goes off.
The last grain falls
and hits the pile,
loud, echoing.
I see lines and space between.
Failed again.

She hasn’t failed! I rejoice. She used metaphor, imagery, tone, great diction – I halt, suddenly aware. She hasn’t failed, but I have. The underlying meaning would be much different if her poem read this way instead:

The hourglass, my beach.CT, Italy
Sand funnels beneath my heels,
and light currents sweep me,
wave after wave, crisp and cool,
refreshing.
Words unending.

The page: an ocean of opportunity.
Freeing.
There’s not enough water
for a swimmer like me,
cutting, gliding through currents,
no need for air.
I am the wave. I am the page.
I have the words.

 

 

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