Empty

All of us have approached an anniversary of some kind.

As as an educator, I felt the planning, and the beginning of E Learning one year ago this past week as if it occurred yesterday.

While more poems about Corrie and loss are beginning to express more hope, I have to reflect on so much of what was lost beyond my daughter’s life.

EMPTY

Empty hall and empty chairs,

No one came to hear 

in the year before 

a virus swept the news,

Swept us from our workplaces,

Swept us from our sports,

Swept us from all the places

we believed were important.

I put out the ad. The poster

on the side of the auditorium

shows the dates I plan to speak.

A lost Tweet in the Twitter, 

A lost message in the media, 

A ripped up and crumbled 

poster of when I’d plan to talk.

I said, “Come with me. Let’s 

talk about how all my students

end up mid-century old houses,

or how some don’t have heat. Yet, we

expect them to perform the same

as other kids their age.” Seats 

empty at the front,

Seats empty in the back,

Seats empty in the balcony.

I speak without a crowd.

SO MANY HAVE SOMEONE OR SOMETHING TO GRIEVE

This coming week marks the last time my daughter went to stay with her grandparents, so I could flesh out a schedule to teach English I, English 8, Social Studies, and my son, Hayes, with his classes and occupational therapies. If I could do that, then I could teach Corrie preschool.  

An eerie feeling came over me the week Corrie went to stay with her grandparents. Even with Hayes present, the house was too quiet. I felt a gut horrified feeling that she would soon be gone.

Yes, I felt it, but when she came home, I kept her at my side into the night.

The poem grieves what teachers all over the world felt, and I thought of the students last year and at my previous school.

So many people lost loved ones to COVID-19 and other health conditions. So many people have faced job loss. I wrote the poem, Empty, before Corrie’s death.

By Rebecca T. Dickinson. Copyright by R.T. Dickinson 2020-2021