409 Readings | 1 Rating

Holding Hands With a Woman

“Someone Saw You Holding Hands With a Woman and If You Won’t Publicly Renounce Your Disgusting Actions Then You Are No Longer an Employee of This School"

I remember waking up at 6 am–I remember having something to wake up for.
I remember writing plays, cleaning up yogurt, spinning globes.
Staying up late to pin construction paper borders and word maps.
Anticipation, deadlines, meetings.  I remember the day I left.
I know time heals, but how long does that take?
I know they’re still learning their clocks.
Time is a watched pot I can’t seem to boil,
but it’s everything to them.

I will never stop missing their morningsleep faces.
Never pass a school bus without aching for their questions.
Never tie my shoe without tying theirs, too.
Though I’ll never have another shoe to tie.

I am enraged that I never got to defend myself–not a soapbox–a goodbye would have been, at least, decent.
I am haunted by the day a parent shoved me against the lockers, asked if I had ever molested my students.
I don’t have to wonder if the substitute is better than me, or if she is more beloved than I was…she isn’t.

When I see them in dreams, I kiss their salt tears away.
In real life, I have to pretend I don’t know their favorite colors.
When I pay my electricity bill I count sums and figures on their tiny, curious fingers.
When I  rest blades in my veins it is for the caps I will never see them toss.
Posted 09/06/12
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