Poetry Month Day 9: Depending on When You Met Me

Today’s poetry challenge is to compose a “depending on when you met me” poem. It’s a good way to think about all of the “me’s” I’ve been over the years, and to whom. This seems like a tough one to narrow down. I could do my evolution as a mom, as a person, as a teacher, as a hobbyist…my life has gone through a lot of iterations, to say the least.

Have you met me?
is what I say when I mention
that I meal plan for the week, that I
organize my closet by color, that I
tend to be obtuse and random,
bordering on awkward

but

depending on when you met me,
I was a “wise-ask,” which is
what nobody likes, Helaine,
when I mouthed off
to grown-ups from
a tender young age.

Depending on when you met me,
I was the had-to-be-right kid,
the first-hand-up-in-class kid,
the do-what-I-like-and-skip-boring-work kid,
the wander-in-the-forest kid,
the picked-last-for-kickball kid,
the hey!-Earth-to-Lainie kid.

Depending on when you met me,
I was the class clown runner-up,
doing all the activities,
joining all the groups,
trying to be everything
to everyone.

Depending on when you met me,
I was the starry-eyed newbie teacher
with a tote bag full of ideals
and ideas,
ready to change the world
one kid at a time.

Depending on when you met me,
I’m the reluctant grown-up
who might still mouth off
who will definitely still be awkward,
who still loves teaching as much
as thirty years ago,
and is ready to meet
her own evolving,
changing,
growing
self.

Poetry Month Day 8: Birthright

Today’s poem is part of both #VerseLove from Ethical ELA and Slice of Life Tuesdays. The poetry challenge is to explore an inherited gesture, belief, or ritual.

Here’s my go at it:

Birthright

In poker and chess,
It’s called a tell:
Worlds revealed
In a flick, a blink, a twitch

For me,
It’s my father’s response
To frustration, impatience, annoyance:
The double-palmed face rub,
Followed by fingertips
Pressed to the eyes
Subtle, right?

What I’d give to
Deny my patterning:
I’ve tried
Sitting on hands
Taking deep breaths
Folding my arms
But what can be done?

It’s a dubious inheritance,
Just like
Oddly-shaped fingers
The knack for trivia
My wiry, curly hair
The nasty habit of punnery
A tendency to burst into song
The shadow of dementia

Poetry Month Day 5: Scars

A Map of the Outer Lands

We begin the tour
at our northernmost point, with the
oldest of our scars:
a souvenir left from the
Great Door Frame-Forehead Confluence of 1974,
then just a quick drive southeast, til we’re at
Crater Pock, established in 1978
by a prospector looking to
settle an under-eye chicken pox score

There aren’t many roadside attractions in this area, folks,
but as we’re driving the eastern shoulder
keep your eye out for the trio of trenches,
vestiges (two benign) from 2024’s Biopsy Spring.

From there, the roads are clear until we reach
south-of-the-knee country.
There’s no telling what you’ll hit:
trip-and-fall scabs, barbell scrapes,
coffee table collisions.
It’s all wilderness there, folks,
and it’s a rocky end to an otherwise smooth trip.

That’s all for today’s tour,
(don’t forget to tip your guide)
but for those of you looking
for more adventurous territory,
we’ll be giving tours of the heart
on alternate Tuesdays.

Poetry Month Day 4: The Places I’ll Go

Today’s #VerseLove prompt is to take inspiration from travel. I knew which travel I wanted to write about – when I stayed in Sandusky, Ohio while my son was in the hospital there. I remember how otherworldly it felt being out one morning on a kayak. Not gonna lie: this poem WRESTLED me.

Drifting

A crystal morning
on Lake Erie:
I float,
an island unto myself
among islands,

pondering, amid
turtles and eagles and dragonflies,
how this time,
these moments: they are
breath and sustenance,
and I have
left the world behind, save

the kayak time limit
my son’s hospital visiting hours
phone calls,
phone calls,
and the phone calls:
and trappings
of life

I consider
how we are all
archipelago:
islands cultivated
or bridged
or isolated

how the
difference
between being
untethered
and unmoored
is how we feel
about the hand
at the end of our rope.

Poetry Month, Day 3: Ode to False Spring


Wrote this poem for Ethical ELA’s VerseLove. Today’s task was to borrow a rhyme scheme from another poem or song, then “golden shovel” the last words into a new rhyming poem.

I really did want to come up with something deep and pithy. Clever, however, butted in line and stole Pithy’s number at the deli counter. So…here it is:

Ode to False Spring
after Robert Frost

Spring is here, the weather is fair
And many Chicagoans claim
That sandals and shorts are ready to wear
(Though I really could not say the same)

For each April morning, I lazily lay,
The sky through my window still black;
I think, I could better leap into the day
If only the sunlight came back.

Instead I will stretch, I will yawn and will sigh
Pondering the day to come hence;
To dress warm? Dress cold? (Between you and I,
It’s not gonna make any difference.)

Poetry Month Day 2: Spring Is

squishy ground
mud puddles
and dog prints

squawking in
wet sneakers
that can’t sneak

traditions:
searching out
crocus blooms

I wrote this tricube (3 verses, 3 lines each, 3 syllables each) in response to Ethical ELA’s Verselove. I’ve long lurked and read, but finally jumped in and added my two (twenty-seven?) cents…

(And yes, the pedant in me knows the blooms above are not crocuses. But still spring, nonetheless.)

Poetry Month Day 1: Easing In with an Etheree

Happy poetry month! Throughout April, I’ll be crafting poetry every day. There may be days I’m inspired to do something beautiful, brilliant, sparkling in its craft.

There may be other days I’m writing to keep my wheels moving. Today is such a day.

For today, an Etheree: a poem that works from one to ten syllables (and, sometimes, back again):

on
the first
of April,
I stand, looking
at the rest of the
month, wondering if I
have it within myself to
keep writing, this time all in verse
(after all…I always say it’s my
preferred method of expression), so one
would think I’d leap right in, ready to
take the world on, line after line
but there are times (more often
than not) where I’d like a
moment of silence,
a retreat from
the need for
any
words.

Slice of Life Day 31: Summing Up

For today’s writing, I have to thank Cindy from Ms. Chiubooka Writes, who actually took inspiration from an earlier post of mine. In this post, she looks back over her years in the monthly challenge. Her writing was so insightful I had to think about it for myself.

This is only my fifth year doing the challenge, but it’s enough time for me to see changes and patterns. The act of writing each March has given a window into myself at the time.

2025. This year, just participating in the challenge is a win for me. The fact that I’m still standing after a humdinger of a past year is a minor miracle. So it doesn’t surprise me that many of my posts are lighter in nature, with room for reflection and sincerity to creep in. (As it does.) I don’t think I’m far enough from this year to reflect on it, so I’ll leave that to Future Me.

2024 was a year where the theme seemed to be the discomfort of writing every day. I won’t call it whining, but…it is what it is. More often than not, I navigated that discomfort by composing poetry. I don’t know what it is about poetry that allows for a more open channel of expression. Maybe I’ll dig into that sometime. Maybe that’s what therapists are for.

2023. Hoo boy. My mom underwent brain surgery, I was a representative on a highly contentious union negotiation cycle, and life was, to speak plainly, a sack of bananas. I have no posts for March beyond the 12th, and I feel zero guilt about it. Funny thing is, other than a poem alluding to my hope for a snow day, my posts give absolutely no indication of what I’m actually going through. Maybe that’s another thing therapists are for.

2022. The one thing I notice more than anything during this year is how often I reported on what was happening in my classroom. I don’t think I’ve done as much of that recently, and I think I want to go back to doing it more. Plus, my students get so tickled to see their thinking showcased, and they love knowing there are folks out there in the world responding to what they contribute.

2021. My first year as a Slicer! It’s a month full of a mish-mosh of stories from life, poems, and musings as a writer. It’s also during a time in my life I was examining my own relationship with race and identity through a series of what I called “Sunday Sit-Downs.” It’s amazing to me how deeply my early experiences and (mis-)understandings led to my current (and currently evolving) world view. Enter my therapist, yet again.

Through it all, I’ve seen the themes and patterns that run throughout – because if history has taught me anything, it’s that I make sense of the world by looking for themes. And metaphor. But if you’ve been a regular customer, you probably already knew that. So…what have I learned?

1. Sometimes this is hard.
2. Sometimes I don’t like my work.
3. And that’s okay.
4. There’s always amazing inspiration to be had from colleagues.
5. And my students.
6. Especially my students.
7. Fiction is my Waterloo, but I’ll keep trying.
8. My commitment to re-creating this experience for students has been my north star.
9. I’ve written some good stuff.
10. And some clunkers.
11. I’m beyond grateful to this writing community.
12. In more ways than I can count.


    Thanks, as always, for the Two Writing Teachers March Slice of Life Story Challenge. Check ’em out!

    Slice of Life Day 30: Yes, and

    Earlier today, I went through some of my old posts (I’m saving those reflections for tomorrow) and I came across this yes/no writing format. I thought I’d pull it off the closet shelf, dust it off, and give it a go.

    Yes, I was happy to go out to breakfast with my family this morning.

    No, I don’t know how to order anything but my “usual:” scrambled eggs with salami (don’t knock it ’til ya tried it).

    Yes, I was more than happy to visit a friend with a new puppy this afternoon.

    No, my girlies were not happy I came home smelling of Other Dogs.

    Yes, I had a plan for dinner.

    No, I didn’t make it because there were so many leftovers in the fridge.

    Yes, I’m hoping for an early bedtime this evening.

    No, I probably won’t have one.

    Yes, tomorrow marks my return to school after spring break.

    No, I’m not stressing about it. Life’s too short.

    Yes, snow will fall sometime overnight.

    No, I will not wear my winter coat to school as a matter of principle.

    Yes, I think this is a really fun way to craft a post.

    No, I still can’t make it through without a million revisions and micro-edits…


    Thanks, as always, for the Two Writing Teachers March Slice of Life Story Challenge. Check ’em out!

    Slice of Life Day 29: On Namesakes

    Daily writing prompt
    If you could have something named after you, what would it be?
    View all responses

    ooooo this looks like a fun prompt. I’m going with it!

    The Lainie Levin Honorary Storytelling Theater

    The Levin Weightlifting Complex for Teen Girls with Impostor Syndrome

    The Lainie Levin Homework Grading Corner at Starbucks

    Mount Lainieus: the tallest peak in Cook County, Illinois

    The Lainie: a deli sandwich with chopped liver, pastrami, pickles, and Russian dressing

    Legs by Levin: fitnesswear for Women of a Certain Age

    The Levin Escape Room for Toddler Parents

    …what am I not anxious to see named after me? People. It’s Jewish tradition to name babies after people who have passed on. So while the sentiment would theoretically be nice, I’m not a fan of the prerequisites.


    Thanks, as always, for the Two Writing Teachers March Slice of Life Story Challenge. Check ’em out!