Vox Populi
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Lisa M. Hase-Jackson: Post Solstice Academics
Philodendron curls
in the late sun
of this long hot day
belonging to the early 21st century
signaling an abrupt new semester
and blunt return to proper clothing,
shoes, grief over lost naps,
attention pulled from
the garden, free-range
house plants neglected now
for lesson plans
the ironing of slacks.
Desire cultivates desire
but no one ever asked
for more windowless
classrooms, committee work,
computer verification codes
on personal cellphones
or shrink-wrapped produce
on Styrofoam trays
and yet these proliferate
in excess. Every year an annual
commitment to gardening
turns as brittle, as curled
as autumn leaves and students,
they say, don’t read syllabi.
I cannot prove it, because
I refuse to submit DNA,
but know as surly as
my great Aunt Ruth wrote
radio plays that my ancestors are
druid tree-dwellers, forest dancers
intimate with boreal communities
and life’s brief promise—
familiar with violence, too,
of hunting and defending, of giving
birth and burying the dead.
In this age of wonder I wonder
how long modern medicine
will preserve a body past
quality of life, how tightly
wrapped against air and rain,
wind, the sun.
~~~~
Copyright 2025 Lisa M. Hase-Jackson
Lisa M. Hase-Jackson is author of Insomnia in Another Town, winner of the Nelson Poetry Book Prize, and Flint and Fire. Her poems appear in Verse Daily, Sugar House Review, Chiron Review, and Cimarron Review. She is a Visiting Assistant Professor in Creative Writing at the University of Pittsburgh.
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I want to believe that students read the syllabus. Sigh.
I did just grade an upper-level class’s first quiz (over Jesmyn Ward’s memoir Men We Reaped) and the lowest grade was an 85%. I call that a win 🙂
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I left teaching because I wanted to spend more time writing, but this time of year I feel the old excitement rising.
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I was on leave from teaching for two years, when a Chair position called me back. My life now is a mixed blessing, as the dancing Druids in my DNA try to woo me away from my dear students.
Thank you, Lisa, for a poem that helped me feel less alone in this divided allegiance!
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It’s not the same after teaching and counseling premeds for 20 years and before that, K-12, to drive back to SDSU once a week as I am passed up by cohorts taking more classes as I move slowly toward my MFA in poetry, grateful after age and medical mayhem to be able to indulge in the song of words, grateful to be with young poets, grateful for the not as young medical professionals who still keep in touch.
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And even some Facebook friends I taught in 5th grade who ask “ how does it feel to have former students pushing 60” ( and that was said a few years ago)
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Lovely prose poem, Barb. You have such talent. Glad you are back at your writing.
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Not sure how long the university will accommodate me. The fall of my first classes was on line because it was the beginning of Covid. With my poor hearing it was actually better. Now I hear about a third of comments in class.
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Yes, it is difficult to pay attention as our hearing fades.
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Your words capture the experience so aptly, Lisa. I was so happy to read your poem this morning. Wishing you a good new semester.
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I retired from teaching a number of years ago, and I miss it terribly. This poem brings me back to the feeling at the beginning of the fall semester. Thank you, Lisa!
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