Self-Help Sonnet I
by K. D. Battle
In Kennebunkport, my students taught me to sift through the river for old pottery.
Those days were hot, barefoot even though there were rusty fishhooks,
I mean, these kids were down with crazy, wild like the wild education I taught them,
Barefooted. Fragments of names of lives of precious things were pulled from the rush.
When the days were colder, we would burn birch in the woods, following animal trails.
Taught the youth to survive without a phone and to build forts and just be.
Play sans screens, resolve grievances as peers sans fears, with space to grow and
Safety to fall back on. Certainly a unique job, but I loved those kids, and dozens of parents
Dropped off cherubs in the middle of the deep Maine woods. Sounds like nightmare
Fuel: rain or shine, snow or sleet, lightning our only bane, we colored in the wilds
Of south-coastal Maine. Pack-in, pack-out, boogie-ass granola mom Osiris backpacks,
Once made thirty kids under eleven walk thirteen miles in a day—one was four, lol.
They liked it. It was a good day, everyone was properly hydrated, went to the beach, we flew,
But these memories are mere fragments, my jar broken, the children reaching for something new.
K.D. Battle is an ex-nuclear submarine mechanic, ex-lead singer, and an instructor of writing for all. He has taught for acclaimed institutions such as the Telling Room and is currently pursuing an MFA at Western Michigan University, where he is the Assistant Director of First Year Writing. He hopes you live a life of wonder and compassion.
