Mandy Tirrell

     Two years ago, I started to write in front of my students. Not poised in a chair with my journal and pen, but right up on the whiteboard for all to see. Admittedly, it was, and still is, intimidating. After all, I’m an English teacher; I’m not supposed to make mistakes in my writing, but boy do I! I drop letters from words. I scribble out entire lines of writing. I misspell. I neglect punctuation, and when in a hurry, I even screw up homophones (my secrets are out). I worried that I was sacrificing credibility and my students’ respect for me. Ultimately, I decided it was more important for them to experience the imperfect, sometimes painful, process of writing.
    When I began, my only intention was to show students that writing is messy. It does not come easily to most people. Students often assume that teachers are gifted, that they have the ability to command their discipline like gods and goddesses. I don’t believe it is possible to know everything about anything; additionally, I strongly believe that the act of creating is even more imperfect and ambiguous than many of the tasks we assign to our students. We all begin with "Shitty First Drafts."
    As I continued to write daily on the great wide open, I realized something else was happening. Students began to include references to my “board writing” in their author’s notes and reflections about their own writing. They mentioned my errors, my scribbles, my weaknesses, my on-the-fly edits, and they also alluded to the pieces of my writing that they thought were beautiful. I quickly realized that the act of writing on a stage (though not as a sage), is a great equalizer.

The following are poems and/or poem fragments I wrote in response to poetry prompts. They all started on the board in front of my students. I revisited and revised them here at the Institute.

Orchard Bearing ( this prompt explored mixing a place you’ve heard of, but have never been to, and 4

random words)

An apple in her hand,

Extended to the sky.

She rubs her fingers

Over and over

The roundness,

Revealing a shine.

A shudder resounds

In her belly.

A sudden connection

To life,

To time,

To cycles.

From her hand,

The apple

Falls

To

Field.

Breaking with the storm

In her belly,

Swollen.

A weighted life waiting,

Dropping

With

Each

Wave.

Thunder sounds.

The Orchard fades.

Apples echo

On the ground,

Announcing their ripe readiness.

Awkward Silence on the Bleachers (prompt relating to football during homecoming)

The lines marked the ground predictably.

Geometric signals,

Calculable.

But the sky held our purpose.

The stark blue assaulted our eyes,

As we willed the plastic dragon to stay afloat.

As long as it drifted, tethered to the child,

We didn’t have to talk.

It bobbed, ducked, and weaved

Its own conversation in the sky,

And the wind carried the words away.

Seeds of Secrets (Four random words prompt and enjambment challenge)

A live giant oak canopied

A shadow like a castle

Over the house perched

At the end of the street

Acorns fell like avocados

All around with spheres

For secrets heavily resounding

On the ground at their feet

Rooted in the unknown

Of a rescinding life

Beyond the shadow of the

Oak and the secrets of seeds