[The Stage is on Fire] is a page-turner in which, much like life, there are no easy answers and yet each step of the journey yields insight and hope. This work of heart must not be missed!
Melanie Faith
Creative Writing Teacher, Essayist & Poet.
Katie Steedly’s first-person piece [The Unspeakable Gift] is a riveting retelling of her participation in a National Institutes of Health study that aided her quest to come to grips with her life of living with a rare genetic disorder. Her writing is superb.
The Society of Professional Journalists
In recognition of receiving the Dateline Award for the Washingtonian Magazine essay, The Unspeakable Gift.
I thank you … It is the authenticity of your “class notes”; and it is the delicacy and skill with which you present the nuances of classroom life and the actuality of your students’ and fellow teachers’ lives.
Maxine Greene
Philosopher and Education Scholar
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Poetry Might Save Us Now
Considering Inaugural Poetry During National Poetry Month
Poetry sculpts words. Poetry builds hope. Poetry restores faith. United States Presidential Inaugural Poetry can focus our gaze on our better angels — above the cruelty of dehumanization, above the violence of war, above the stench of corruption. Looking at Presidential Inaugural Poetry — which is historically rare and uniquely significant — provides a path to hope, peace, and justice. [Note: Before doing this work, I had always assumed all, or at least most, Presidents had Inaugural Poets. That is just not the case.]
Presidential Inaugural Poetry is a balm in times of pain, a meditation on our best selves, and a vision toward truth and beauty. It reminds us that our words elevate hearts and minds and actions. It reminds us that our collective wounds can be beautifully healed. It reminds us of inspiration and imagination and interdependence. I hunger for moral leadership. I thirst for the more perfect union aspired to and written about for more than two centuries. I crave what I feel when I read Inaugural Poems — the thought that we might not only survive, but thrive.
The Gift Outright
“The land was ours before we were the land’s/ She was our land more than a hundred years/ Before we were her people. She was ours.” From “The Gift Outright,” by Robert Frost, read at John F. Kennedy’s inauguration.
The rush to burn our world down through extraction and war breaks my heart. The permanence of destruction — the tragedy of extinction and abuse — will haunt generations. Corruption poisons. This land was ours before we were the land’s. We are connected to the earth. We are her people — born into the responsibility to cherish and steward and protect. Caring for the natural world is the thread that ties our multiple crises together. We breathe the same air. We drink the same water. Science investigates and solves. Soil feeds. Seeds grow. Sun warms. Rain washes. The land is a gift.
The Strength of Fields
Lord, let me shake/ With purpose. Wild hope can always spring/ From tended strength. Everything is in that./ That and nothing but kindness. More kindness, dear Lord/ Of the renewing green. That is where it all has to start:/ With the simplest things. More kindness will do nothing less/ Than save every sleeping one/ And night-walking one/ Of us./ My life belongs to the world. I will do what I can. From “The Strength of Fields,” by James Dickey, read at Jimmy Carter’s inauguration.
I paid my respects to President Carter after his passing. Feeling a duty to honor his example of service and love, I made my way to the Carter Center where he laid in state. I stood and wept watching the officers guard where he lay. I stood there mourning leadership. Mourning the first President I remember.
His life exemplified the strength of fields. He was from the field before college and military service, before ministry and elected office. He lived scripture —Micah 6:8 — “Do Justice, love Mercy, and walk humbly with God.” He reminded us all justice and peace and love must be our way. His life belonged to the world. His life was a prayer to simple things. His life was a prayer to kindness.
On The Pulse of Morning
You, created only a little lower than/ The angels, have crouched too long in/ The bruising darkness/ Have lain too long/ Facedown in ignorance,/ Your mouths spilling words/ Armed for slaughter./ The Rock cries out to us today,/ You may stand upon me,/ But do not hide your face. From “On The Pulse of Morning,” by Maya Angelou, read at Bill Clinton’s first inauguration.
Angels have crouched. The bruising darkness has lain. Mouths spill words armed for slaughter. Like stones, we must cry out. Breathing is crying. Waking is crying. Connecting is crying. Praying is crying. Healing is crying. Planting is crying. Creating is crying. Building is crying. Inventing is crying. Working is crying. Imagination is crying. Hope is crying. Faith is crying.
We are asked not to hide our face.
The pulse of morning invites. The pulse of morning breathes. The pulse of morning opens. The pulse of morning softens. The pulse of morning sings. The pulse of morning wakes. The pulse of morning wails. The pulse of morning sheds. The pulse of morning roots. The pulse of morning blooms. The pulse of morning sparkles. The pulse of shifts. The pulse of morning grows.
Of History and Hope
All this in the hands of children, eyes already set/ on a land we never can visit — it isn’t there yet —/ but looking through their eyes, we can see/ what our long gift to them may come to be./ If we can truly remember, they will not forget. From “Of History and Hope,” by Miller Williams, read at Bill Clinton’s second inauguration.
We hope. We plant. We imagine. We create. We build. We look through the eyes of children. We work toward the long gift. Remembering means ethical leadership. Remembering means human rights. Remembering means the public good. Remembering means an ethic of service. Remembering means peace yielding justice. Remembering means thinking in generational terms.
Because we will not see it, small steps toward big ideas must start. Because we will not see it, imagination’s muscle must strengthen our resolve. Because we will not see it, does not mean we can’t make it so.
Praise Song for the Day
I need to see what’s on the other side./ I know there’s something better down the road./ We need to find a place where we are safe./ We walk into that which we cannot yet see. From “Praise Song for the Day,” by Elizabeth Alexander, read at Barack Obama’s first inauguration
The praise song for the day is about seeing, knowing, finding, and walking toward a better world. In the middle of the mess, we must see the other side. In the middle of the mess, we must feel hope in our bones. In the middle of the mess, we must find safety. In the middle of the mess we must sing.
Knowing there is something better down the road is a point of imagining in the mess. Knowing there is something better down the road is a point of creating in the mess. Knowing there is something better down the road is a point of connecting in the mess.
One Today
We head home: through the gloss of rain or weight/ of snow, or the plum blush of dusk, but always—home,/ always under one sky, our sky. And always one moon/ like a silent drum tapping on every rooftop/ and every window, of one country—all of us—/ facing the stars/ hope—a new constellation/ waiting for us to map it,/ waiting for us to name it—together. From “One Today,” by Richard Blanco, read at Barack Obama’s second Inauguration
Heading home under one sky. That feels like a warm hug at a time of clinched fists and anxiety attacks. Of drum tapping and moon howling. Of star guiding and map making. What we do with our one today matters. It matters how we care for ourselves — our body, mind, and spirit. It matters how we tend relationships. It matters how we build community. It matters what government does in our name. It matters how our leaders — at all levels — behave.
I will build one today. One hand and heart at a time. One syllable and word at a time. One tear and blink at a time. One breath and sigh at a time. One wound and scar at a time. One prayer and dream at a time.
The Hill We Climb
When day comes we ask ourselves, where can we find light in this never – ending shade? The loss we carry, a sea we must wade. We’ve braved the belly of the beast, we’ve learned that quiet isn’t always peace and the norms and notions of what just is, isn’t always justice. And yet the dawn is ours before we knew it, somehow we do it, somehow we’ve weathered and witnessed a nation that isn’t broken but simply unfinished. From “The Hill We Climb,” by Amanda Gorman, read at Joe Biden’s Inauguration
Dear Amanda — Your yellow dress shined through our fatigue and isolation that morning. Wearing Oprah’s gift, fashioned like Maya Angelou’s bird, you sang beautiful truth to generations on a global stage. You reminded us the weight of loss we carry. You reminded us that quiet is not always peace. You reminded us that justice is not always justice. Grace through it all. Glorious youth. Broken and unfinished. Personal and collective. Finding light with every fiber of my being, the strength of words and language, and the fire of 1,000 suns. Climbing the hill together. Sincerely — Katie
About Katie
From Louisville. Live in Atlanta. Curious by nature. Researcher by education. Writer by practice. Grateful heart by desire.
Buy the Book!
The Stage Is On Fire, a memoir about hope and change, reasons for voyaging, and dreams burning down can be purchased on Amazon.
