One Year

 

One Year

It’s been one year

           since everything changed and

           my family will never be the same.

It’s been one year

           full of unanswered questions and grief

           with no signs of any kind of relief.

It’s been one year

           fighting constant pinpricks of tears,

           forced to face my worst fears.

It’s been one year

           of reexamining long-held beliefs,

           requiring a full memory debrief.

It’s been one year

           of perpetual physical and emotional pain,

           though therapies create slow gains.

It’s been one year

           focused on incremental healing

           pursuing authentic processing.

Twas the Week Before Break

 Twas the Week Before Break

Twas the week before break, and all through the halls

Students were excited and restless, bouncing off walls.

Bulletin board displays that had once been hung with care,

Were now all shredded and ripped practically bare;

As children ignored their teachers and leaned on the work,

Or perhaps moved slowly away with a quick shrug and a smirk.

 

We teachers had planned for absences, interruptions, and infusions of sugar,

But, alas, each classroom was rapidly becoming its own pressure cooker.

When over the intercom a loud, crackling announcement began,

Making me wonder what new intrusion would derail my lesson plan.

 

We were all dealt a huge blow, the result of continued snow fall,

“Recess will be held inside your classrooms,” came the ominous call.

But just when I thought my bladder would burst,

Supervision came from the school’s nurse.

 

Now Jasper! Now Casper, now Billy and Willy!

C’mon Tina and Gina, c’mon Sally and Susie!

Get off the bookshelf, get down from the table,

This is still a classroom, not a barnyard stable.

 

When at last the bell finally rang,

To our feet we all eagerly sprang.

Though we all knew tomorrow would bring more of the same,

But at the end of the week, we knew we'd exclaim:

"I’ll see you next year!" as we grinned from ear to ear.

Metal Leaves

 "My brain is made of metal leaves!"

came the lament as the meltdown commenced.

Strong emotions are nearly in control -

in mere moments reason will not exist.

                            Yet,

        I pause to admire the metaphor:

                What a wise way to say,

                            "I can't think today."

        My child is brilliant!

                A future poet or literary genius!

But for now rocking, shushing, and hugging

are the only language that will be understood.

I'm Not Old, But I'm Not Young

I'm not old, but I'm not young...

gradually aging with

random rashes and hot flashes,

new pain and sudden weight gain.

I'm not old, but I'm not young...

my kids now adults with

graduations pending and

major life plans commencing.

I'm not old, but I'm not young...

my experience with

adulting is three decades strong

but wisdom comes slowly along.

I'm not old, but I'm not young...

friends have come and gone with

Facebook helping to ease distance

as others spring to existence.

I'm not old, but I'm not young...

happily aging with

the career I always wanted

and love that has not absconded.

Last Week in Haiku

 Atypical Week

Atypical week:

Monday was Valentine's Day.

Roses, candy, cards.

Then Tuesday arrived.

Too many meetings scheduled.

Migraine subtracts one.

Ran a Zoom break out room

then I pitched my friend's first book

One more task awaits.

Partner leaving soon

means it's time to interview

kids need a teacher.

One student's absent:

arachnid bite overnight;

spent day in ER.

Another sobs twice.

First unfriended IRL

and then felt dizzy.

Blast email to say

COVID case in grade.

Have I been exposed?

Now I am not sure

the name of the day of week

Is it Friday yet?

Yes! But wait, there's more!

Partner's last day: sad students.

We are now short staffed.

Friday also brought

a second interviewee,

deleting goodbyes.

The weekend is here!

Loving husband has a plan:

Go away to play.

COVID Weight Gain

 

I wish I wasn't so fat.

Wait. I'm in control of that.

My stomach was never flat,

but it has grown as I've sat.

I should eat less and move more

to fit the clothes I once wore.

But it's easy to ignore

with foods and apps to explore.

Though the solution is clear,

can I successfully steer

through holiday meals and cheer

present at this time of year?

COVID caused routines to shift,

past good habits set adrift.

Excuses have become swift

when comfort food is sniffed.

I wish I wasn't so fat.

I know I can control that.

My stomach never was flat,

but it has grown as I have sat.

Alphabetical Alliteration

 An accounting of an abrupt address in which I was absurdly and awkwardly accosted:

Beginning with the banal and boring burdens before the bell

a completely confrontational conversation occurred at the copier.

A disagreeable discomfort developed for the duration of the discussion.

Emotional elevation and excuses emerged expeditiously.

Flustered and frustrated I found my foreman far away.

Gathering grit, I glimpsed a guaranteed grounding guide.

With hallmarks of hushed and hurried haste she heard my history.

Immediately invigorated I instantly ignored the initial inane incident

jumping justified and jubilant, jesting and jolly with

keen, kooky, kinetic, and kind kids kept captivated

learning lessons.   Laboring later, legwork for looming lessons,

my mobile murmured a memorable and meaningful message.

A new nuisance incited new and novel nervousness.

Overtly omitting opportunities to observe or overhear orations,

planning passage to prevent the prospect of participation in a

queasy, quirky, and qualm filled quarrel with consequent quiet quaking

resulted in rethinking my relish to retain my recent responsibilities.

Students sweetly studying sway my sentiment slightly, still I

trust traditional terrible tension tarries twixt the team with the

upshot of unique and unusual unreasonable unease usurping

vast vestiges of vitality and elevating the volume of vexation.

Will warped ways wane or warily wait to wreak weightier wackiness?

Exhaustion extols exactly why extraction and exit excite.

Yet, I yearn for years of yore yawning with

zippy, zesty, zeal and a zone of zen.