There Was an Old Teacher

There was an old teacher who, once, loved the classroom

She had so much laughter; she learned from her students

Some gave her papers without any names

And mispronounced the terminology in Latin.

.

They mattered. More than imaged.

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There was an old teacher who taught in a classroom

She had so many students, and they knew ideas

She gave them some books and homework

And they whipped up a sound experiment after some Friday in March.

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Hindsight left into twenty twenty.

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There was an old teacher who lived in a classroom

She had so much responsibility, she didn’t know how to balance

She gave until empty, made the decision

And wept over it soundly. Complete resignation.

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There was an old teacher who packed up a classroom

She had so much grief, she didn’t know what to do

So she submits to vocal media without training

A scientist, slapping beaded words together to form poetry

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For a contest

About comfort

Post-pandemic.

[I know…Right?]

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There was an old teacher who screamed in a classroom.

She had so many memories, clawing, clutching, shredding raw skin at ankles, dug into flesh, intertwining immobility

she didn't know what to do.

So she packed them into a box without any lid

Then—oops—collided with the cute, new teacher of English in a hallway.

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Contents spilled.

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Nursery Rhymes qualify, according to my sources

(I researched well)

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