Treasure Hid in a Field

He caught a glimpse through the interminable rows of stalks waving in the wind. What was he seeing? All of a sudden, he found himself in the center of a clearing amid the sea of corn. As he slowly turned to get his bearings, he noticed his old glove on his hand. He hadn’t used it in years. He was wearing his faded uniform. Without a second thought, he joined the game. Friends, former allies, and erstwhile foes formed the teams.

After slipping a strike past the batter, he wondered aloud, “Is this heaven?”

From the sidelines: “No, it’s Iowa.”


By: Brandon Morgan

No One Else’s Job

A merchant hurrying to market came upon a traveler picking up trash along the roadside.

“Why are you picking up trash?” asked the merchant. “It’s not your job.”

“Oh, my apologies,” replied the traveler, looking concerned. “Is it your job?”

“No, of course not,” said the merchant.

“Is it someone else’s job?” asked the traveler.

“None that I know of,” replied the merchant.

“Ah,” said the traveler, relieved. “Well, if it is no one else’s job, then it must be mine!”

And they went their separate ways, each thinking the other a fool.


By: Cartland Berge

Praise to the Emptiness

Peace is emptiness filled by itself.


By: Melissa Wells

Decolonizing the Fence

Why did that white guy plant such a crooked row of trees?

Interesting question. Thirty years he’s with us when he sets about decolonializing his fence. “Trees,” he tells us, “indicate the survey line, but invite walking through it.”

One morning, those trees are growin’ all over the place. “Ah,” he reckons, “I didn’t carry decolonization far enough, so the trees walked themselves into more natural patterns.”

He’s buried here in our graveyard beside plenty of our people from that time. I wonder if, over there, they ever told him about the night we quietly replanted his row of trees.


By: Jim Stauffer

Rows and Rows

Compliance, complacence: we learned in rows.


By: Melissa Wells

Internal Resistance

The internal resistance exerts maximum energy to persuade me that the drive isn’t worth it anymore. “Just sit there,” it says. It knows that if I move I will crush the reason for its existence, so it persists. It begs, and it pleads because my weakness gives it air to breathe. Underestimating its strength is never a wise decision; it loves to present itself as harmless to facilitate the execution of its destructive plans. Movement will move it away, but it preaches that movement isn’t worth it. We wrestle inside the machine that creates my thoughts, and then I drive.


By: Jon Kabongo

The Paradoxical Feel of Everyday Living

Accelerating while stuck, until I destruct.


By: Jon Kabongo


Streaks of crimson remind us: breathe.


By: Melissa Wells

Nothing Wrong With Us

There’s nothing wrong with us, sir, we are loving and accepting people. Maybe if you just dressed a bit more like us you wouldn’t feel so uncomfortable in our environments. Maybe if you didn’t have dreaded hair we wouldn’t question your character. Maybe if you spoke in a proper way we wouldn’t question your intelligence. Even though we make the same mistakes as you, our mistakes are not reflective of our nature; yours are. We are not racist, we just had bad experiences with a couple black people that made us generalize them. We love black people, not the culture.


By: Jon Kabongo

Race Card Project: 6 Words

I don’t get followed in stores.


By: Jim Stauffer

Dandelions, Deconstructed

As a child, find joy in a dandelion, watching its fluffiness deconstruct when blown.

As an adult, find annoyance: deconstructing dandelions only spreads more. Joy.


By: Melissa Wells


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Tiny Tales from the Digital Pedagogy Lab 2021 Copyright © 2021 by Laura Gibbs is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-ShareAlike 4.0 International License, except where otherwise noted.

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