Notes From Public School - Day 119

This week, we read the picture book Gleam and Glow by Eve Bunting.

Do you know that book?

It’s about the war in Bosnia in the 1990’s.

A father leaves his family to fight in an underground army as Serbian soldiers sweep through villages and set fire to houses.

A mother takes their two children, an eight year old boy and a five year old girl, on a march toward a refugee camp.

They leave two goldfish, Gleam and Glow, so named by the girl, behind in a pond in hope they’ll see them again.

You see the war torn world through the eyes of the boy, you hear it with the ears of his heart.

When we asked, “What is the theme of this story?” Josiah said it best.

“It’s about when hope almost disappears. But there’s just a tiny bit left. Just enough to hold onto.”

I’m thinking about the book and Josiah’s words as the war in Ukraine rages on.

If I look closely at the Ukrainian peoples faces, what will I see?

If I listen carefully to their hearts, what will I hear?

Will I see a tiny bit of gleam and glow?

Will I hear a tiny bit of hope?

Can I do anything to help?

This small poem is my prayer.

It’s titled “Migrant Heart.”

My

Heart

Loves home

Winter snow

Spring mountain flowers

Summer salt in the deep, blue sea

Fall leaves on the colorful trees are art for my heart

With tears in my eyes, my heart pulls on its brown tattered coat, black holey shoes, red wool scarf 

My heart is so tired, poor, huddled, wretched, homeless and tempest-tost. It loves its memories, family, home but it is time for me to go

Too many cold, deserted eyes at checkpoints in lonely streets pointed guns at my heart; too many clouds empty of rain brought pain to my heart; too many coughs from my children’s chests into the night broke my heart

My heart picks up its battered suitcase, with tape all around its ends, lest it break open and spill out my father’s favorite shirt, a love letter, a picture of my beautiful children, all I have in the world, onto the ground

Deep in the hull of a ship tossing on stormy seas; high on the roof of a train winding down a long, steep hill; barefoot on a dusty road

Silently, back to back, knee to knee, with poor people and little children…migrant hearts

With each step along the way our hearts whisper, “We’re here”

With each mile we long for caring

We hope for kindness

On the trail

Moving 

Our

Hearts

- Trevor Scott Barton, Left Foot Poems, 2022