<![CDATA[The Full KUP - Art & Poetry]]>

<![CDATA[The Full KUP - Art & Poetry]]>Mon, 17 Jul 2023 10:18:09 -0700Weebly<![CDATA[Aún florece]]>Sun, 09 Apr 2023 07:00:00 GMThttps://www.thefullkup.com/art--poetry/aun-florece

Sending out a little love and hope on this Easter Sunday. May today remind you that all things bloom in their own time, and that includes you. Keep reaching up and may you be surrounded by songs of resistance to help you hold on when the wind blows fierce.

It's always a special joy to create prayers or poems for my Unitarian Universalist church. I enjoy the freedom to invoke the divine in its many forms and celebrate the spirits all around us.

Video text:
Let us join our hearts in a shared moment of reflection and prayer.

Aún florece el jardín

Though the ground
Be cold and hard and weary
Still the garden blooms

Even as tender earth
Is laden with longing
New bulbs do grow

Aún florece la alegría
Cuando más se nos escapan
Las sonrisas

El sol
Shines forth
With new fervor
Each day stronger
Y cada día
Se queda un ratito más

May there be
Gardeners of spirits
Around all who sprout
Whisper
Las canciones
De resistencia
Below the rumble on the ridge
So when the wind rushes by
Our petals hold fast
And we can look upwards once more

May all know
At whatever stage they
Find themselves in
In waiting, in sprouting, in careful rest,
Deep below there is always
A trembling of life
The garden still blooms
Aún florece el jardín

Que así sea. Bendito sea. Amén.
May it be so. Blessed be. Amen.

]]><![CDATA[Peaches]]>Wed, 23 Jun 2021 21:09:27 GMThttps://www.thefullkup.com/art--poetry/peachesTheme: favorite seasonal flavor
From Allyson Piper's Permission to Play Challenge

I can feel the flavor
Flooding my senses
Mouth full before I even
Take a bite

The season’s here
I smell it in the store
Fresh explosions
Orange, rosa, y rojo

Lovely little rounds
Grace the tops of tables
I pull one close
Sniff deep and take a bite

What are your favorites?
Peaches or nectarines? Yellow or white? Whole or sliced?
We love, love, love peaches over here! Tony likes them whole, dripping sweetness down his hands. Our tree isn’t quite ripe yet but one of my favorite parts of summer is seeing Tony be able to pick a peach right off the tree and enjoy the flavors of summer right in his own backyard.

- poetry - summer - fruit - flavor - motherhood - creative writing - play

]]><![CDATA[Rosa]]>Tue, 22 Jun 2021 01:52:55 GMThttps://www.thefullkup.com/art--poetry/rosa

I used to say
My favorite color was green
And I like green
Really I do

But it’s not my favorite

My favorite color is pink
PINK, PINK, PINK

I didn’t want to be too “girly”
I didn’t want to act like a princess
Just because I like a certain color

But now I know
All colors are for everyone

Pink is power

Soy una rosa
Pero tengo espinas
& I’m strong enough to sting

]]><![CDATA[Belly Born]]>Fri, 30 Apr 2021 21:24:12 GMThttps://www.thefullkup.com/art--poetry/belly-bornCW: birth trauma, postpartum depression, NICU hospitalization

I never imagined I’d need to have a C-section.

I’m ashamed to admit that I definitely looked down upon the idea, thinking it didn’t really count as giving birth or meant a woman wasn’t strong enough to give birth the “normal” way.

I had prepared myself with relaxing hypnobirthing techniques and practices and was so sure I’d have the calm, natural birth that my heart was set on.

What happened instead was so very different from my dreams, but to my great surprise, has radically changed my life for the better.

I labored for almost two whole days with Tony. I stayed calm and relaxed as they told me I could no longer roam the hallways and began the pitocin drip I had hoped to avoid. I kept breathing as discomfort kept me from sleep and I threw up the tiny bit of jello they allowed me to eat. Eventually, I accepted the epidural in hopes I might be able to rest and get things moving. I was disappointed but accepted that plans change. None of it was really that bad, but maybe that was the “problem”. My contractions weren’t strong enough to really move things forward and as it had been so long since my water broke, the doctor began to get worried. They went to place an additional heart rate sensor on the baby’s head and that must have upset his perfect little bubble.

Anthony’s heart rate dropped and never quite picked itself up. They rushed an oxygen mask on me, turned me on my side and he recovered a bit. About 20-30 minutes later, the nurses said I was dilated enough to push and just as we counted down, his heart rate dropped dramatically and I knew. I heard the “Code P” over the hospital speaker system as they prepped the bed to roll into surgery. I knew it was too late and I knew Troy wouldn’t be coming with me. I said goodbye.

Troy gave me a nod. It was a goodbye, it was a “you got this”, it was an “I’m with you”. It was a prayer.

The surgery itself was worse than I expected. I thought I was numb. I thought I wouldn’t feel anything but I felt...everything.

Most of the details are in my poem. It was physical pain, it was emotional pain, and it was so much fear. I prayed during that time and after, when we didn’t know how Anthony would live, like I’d never prayed before.

Anthony’s birth, NICU stay, and health challenges have been the greatest challenges I’ve ever faced in my life. But, they’ve absolutely transformed my life. Recovering from my birth PTSD and PPD forced me to find new strength, to discover more about myself, and to heal. To heal, not just from the birth trauma, but from everything. I’ve healed from previous depression, from body insecurity, from emotional guilt. The wellness journey I began has transformed into a much more confident, centered, and positive person. It’s taken time and moved in little steps but I’m so grateful for who I am right now, in this time. Today, I wear my little smiley face scar as a badge of honor. I am grateful for the struggle because it’s made the joy so much sweeter.

For all my C-section, PPD, and Birth Trauma Mamas, I’m sorry. I’m sorry if you had to experience pain, fear, and sadness related to your birth experience. You are strong, worthy, and you birthed beautifully. May you find healing if you need it and please reach out if you need support in doing so. I’m here for you if I can be a listening ear or a loving spirit along your journey. Sending love and light to all.

Belly Born

Mama,
I’m sorry birth didn’t go the way you wanted

I’m sorry you labored for two whole days
And when they finally told you
You could try to push
The line went flat

Mama,
I’m sorry they had to cut you open
And it hurt like hell when they
Rearranged your insides
With no one there to
Hold your hand

I’m sorry
When they pulled him out
He was blue
And you didn’t get to see him

Mama,
I’m sorry you had to hear that phrase
“We’re doing everything we can”
And you whispered
“Baby, baby, baby”
As the lights faded to black

I’m sorry you only had a minute
A brief stroke of tiny fingers
Through a glass box
Before he was gone
And the little seat sat empty in the car

Mama,
I’m sorry you didn’t get to be the first
The first to see him
The first to hold him
The first to feed him

I’m sorry when you look into his sweet baby eyes
Eyes that see you
As comfort
As joy
As all that is good and sacred
Eyes that know
You are the very definition of love
Part of you
Worries
You’ll always look into those eyes
And feel like you failed him

Mama,
I’m sorry you feel it was all your fault
It wasn’t

I’m sorry you carried that guilt
So heavy it bent your back
And made you look down

But,
I’m not sorry it happened

I’m not sorry you cried
Not sorry it broke your heart so hard
You’d have to learn how to place it all back together

I’m not sorry you were forced
To find new strength
To push your head up
To learn how to breathe
Under water

I’m not sorry you birthed a fighter
Who has taught you more about
Love and presence
Than you ever thought possible

And yes,
I said “birthed”
Because you birthed him beautifully
In pain,
In sacrifice,
In hope

Belly born
& birthed beautifully

]]><![CDATA[Today vs. tomorrow]]>Sun, 18 Apr 2021 00:37:39 GMThttps://www.thefullkup.com/art--poetry/today-vs-tomorrow

PictureImage description: A blue watercolor background. On the bottom of the frame there is green grass and multicolored flowers. A small snail slithers in from the bottom left corner. On the right hand side of the grass is a white sign on which “Let the children grow” is written in dark purple. Across the background in the upper portion of the frame, the poem ,

I watch him pick up the snails so gently, understanding their precious lives, and taking good care to keep them alive. I am thinking about Elijah and how he played his violin for the rescue kittens. How he was vegetarian and wanted to make the world a better place.

Today we are mourning the loss of Daunte and Adam. Tomorrow we will mourn others.

I am thinking of their young lives and I am thinking of Tamir and Trayvon. I am always thinking of Trayvon and how our boys’ youth will not save them. I am thinking of sweet girls in classrooms who are just kids but are already seen as young women and are treated as such. I am thinking of the Black girls who are kicked out of class because their joy is “too loud” or their bad day was seen as a “bad attitude.” I am thinking about that study where even the preschool teachers looked first to the Black children for misbehavior and I am wondering.

I am wondering how any of us can possibly hope to keep our Black and Brown babies safe when our society continues to value whiteness as “good, safe, and normal” and sees color as “dangerous, rough, and bad”. I am wondering, endlessly, if I will give Tony the right instructions, tell him the right things to make sure he stays alive but in the end, it feels somewhat hopeless. How many Black men and women “cooperated”, did the right thing and still lost their lives? Adams' hands were up. His hands were up and they were empty. What else could he have done? We shouldn’t have to prepare our children for that. We shouldn’t have to load our children with tips and tricks in order to survive a police encounter. Enough of that.

Let the children grow. Let them be free to play with bugs and sniff the flowers. Let us be free. Let mothers joyfully soak up the sun and relax without worry or fear of the future. To echo what so many are saying today, this freedom won’t come about solely with diversity training and multicultural celebrations. Those are valuable, important components of creating a more equitable future but we need more and we need it now. We need abolition, we need liberation, and we need a radical recreation of what policing looks like in this country.

May it be so.

Today vs. tomorrow

Today we look for
snails in the backyard
Tomorrow we will look for
ways to make him not seem hard

Today I teach him how
to find treasures in the sands
Tomorrow I will teach him where
to slowly place his hands

Today I lead him
through flowers in the sunlight
Tomorrow I will let him go
and pray that he comes home at night

]]><![CDATA[Feels like Hope]]>Sat, 20 Mar 2021 22:35:04 GMThttps://www.thefullkup.com/art--poetry/feels-like-hope

Sitting in the waiting room after that first shot, I took a moment to look around. This has always been about the people. The people we’ve lost, the people we’ve been missing, the people we can now save. In that waiting room, I saw the people.

I saw the grandmother, the daughter, the son, and the friend. I saw the nurse who gave me my vaccine, one of hundreds that day, and the technicians watching with careful eyes to make sure we were okay. It was quiet but I heard hope singing loudly. Hope cheered with every person who pushed up their sleeve, revealed their arm for prick, and breathed a bit of relief.

Hope sent me dancing out the door that day and hope fuels me forward.

At the beginning of our “quarantine” period, hope was abundant. We clung to hanging colorful heart shapes and placing teddy bears in the windows and shared every story of those going above and beyond to take care of each other. Hope faded fast, for me at least, as some grew weary of our waiting, forgot why we were staying inside, and the numbers grew. As anger rose and politics became the center of a discussion on safety, I laughed at the idea of “hope”.

The pain of the pandemic, the constantly rising death tolls, the anxiety I experienced any time I had to go anywhere, the endless desire to hug my loved ones… All of this came to a colliding explosion with the murder of George Floyd and the agony of injustice once again boiling to the surface of this already overflowing pot. The stress and loneliness of this time has been additionally magnified as a teacher, both through my own experience on one side of the screen and in empathizing with the challenges my students are silently facing on the other side of the screen.

We’ve been right at the tipping point for over 365 days. For a whole year, we’ve been ready to burst. This separation, this isolation, it’s been so very hard for so many of us. We’ve lost family, friends, neighbors, so many people. Our people. In our need to stay safe and away from our dearest loved ones, it often seems as if we’ve lost time itself.

Today is the first day of spring and now, hope rises with the flowers. The vaccine is giving us the opportunity to gather once more. To hold hands and share food. To hug and to dance and to play.

I saw all of that in the waiting room that day.

Troy and I are only one dose in and we’re not at the point of engaging in those favorite activities quite yet but oh, I can feel it coming! I know that we can’t go back to make up for lost time or save those we’ve lost but we can learn from this time, gather our gratitude and move forward. Today feels different. It feels like joy renewed. It feels like hope.

Shots in arms
Healing hands
Rush of relief

Feels like hope

Tasting salt
In the fabric
The Grandmother
The son
The friend
The people

The people are feeling
The world is healing

A year flashed forward
Time lost
Time gained?

March once more
No normal
Normal never was

But new

New day
New ways
Again, we pray

That you, and I - That we will stay

]]><![CDATA[Missing Laughter - Teaching During the Pandemic]]>Sun, 14 Mar 2021 02:45:36 GMThttps://www.thefullkup.com/art--poetry/missing-laughter-teaching-during-the-pandemic

I heard one of my student’s laughter yesterday. She’s new and requested an office hours meeting. I figured it was to get clarification on an assignment or our new content, but she just wanted to chat. She told me she’s nervous about going back as a first year student and wants to make friends so she knows someone on campus when we’re in person. She told me she loves the movie Selena and she, together with a room full of little cousins, and I laughed about games and songs and life.

I miss their laughter the most.

I miss the connection. I miss the side conversations and the tv show reviews. I miss the Tik Tok practicing in the corner and greetings at the door. I miss snacks and songs and silly jokes. I miss seeing when they’re hurting and dropping a piece of chocolate or a note on their desk. I miss my kids and God, how I miss their laughter.

This past year has been so hard on all of us. When we left school on Friday, March 13, 2020, we didn’t know that we wouldn’t be back on Monday, let alone for a whole year. It’s been challenging to lead students in learning activities and it’s been difficult to gauge response in this virtual environment but above all, it’s just been really sad. So many of my students are so disconnected from learning, from me, and from their peers. I have been struggling all year long to build those bridges back but there’s only so much one can do as the pain of isolation grows. The longer we’ve been apart, the deeper the divide. My heart hurts for my students. No one needs to say it, I know we’re all just a little depressed.

During the pandemic and my experience with distance learning, I have often been reminded of that scene in Children of Men when they stop at an abandoned elementary school. The midwife talks about how the sounds of children playing stopped. The laughter stopped. As a teacher, distance learning has been a very lonely experience. I long for those sounds as I believe learning should always be fun, should always incorporate play, and there should always be room for laughter. Without that sense of connection and fun, we might as well each be the last child, left alone in our own abandoned school.

I wrote this poem a few months ago and since then, have certainly experienced some ups and downs. Since writing this, we have also been given that magical, long-anticipated date of return. We’re headed back to in person instruction on April 6 and while there’s still plenty of uncertainty, lots of safety concerns, and some worry about simultaneous virtual and in-person instruction, I am so happy to be going back.

Yesterday, as I drove home from some errands, blasting that same upbeat dance music I’ve been trying to distract myself with, I couldn’t stop the tears. This time, though, they were tears of joy. I can picture my students before me, my silly songs and funky dance moves bringing them a little taste of cheesy joy and I can hear it. The laughter, it’s coming back. It’s coming back and with it’s sweet sound, I’m shedding that weight on my chest, I’m laughing too and together, we’re starting to heal.

Missing Laughter

I miss the children
Watch them glide by
A pack on wheels
I can almost
Hear the classroom chatter
Over the bump of music
I’m using to
Drown the sound
Of thoughts
-It’s almost been a year
Since we walked the halls
Sang our songs
Danced together for real
Sadness is breaking
Chunks all around
Struggling to hold on
Through a little
Hole
In my screen
But most days
It feels like I’m losing

]]><![CDATA[My son's hair - A poem for Tony]]>Sun, 21 Feb 2021 23:25:46 GMThttps://www.thefullkup.com/art--poetry/my-sons-hair-a-poem-for-tony

My son’s hair
by Karen UP

My son’s hair
Is magic

Yes
My son’s hair is different
It does not lay flat
And despite my best efforts
The frizzies come back

But please don’t call it “crazy”
And no,
He doesn’t need a hair brush-
He’s got a mama who knows
Aceite de coco y un peine
Son lo mejor

My son’s hair
Is magic
Laughter unbridled
My son’s hair
Is joy
Sunshine tumbles in the grass
It moves and it flows
It’s natural and
It’s free
As it should be-
He’s 2

He’s 2 and I’ll let him live bold
Won’t pass on my pain
Not fitting in
For my pouf and it’s weight
Not feeling pretty
For hair that’s not straight

No,
My son will learn different
We’ll teach him to love
His beautiful crown
To wear it loud
Grow it proud
And never be told
It’s not normal
Just because it’s different

My son’s hair
Is magic

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