I’d open the door to my classroom
And the suction it created
Often blew my doors off
Heart on the sleeve
Is not good advice for a teacher
Many a pedagogue (and cardiologist) will tell you.
The goal might have been
A certain homeroom homeostasis
Energy in, energy out
Tidal
Drawing from greater powers
Rather than the tsunami
A rush and flush
That swept me hollow
Empathy
Was getting the best of me.
Maybe the best ones
Aka the survivors
Could create some sort of
Emotional semi-permeable barrier
A stasis system
Some sort of wear-in conditioner
That allows them to give
Without being consumed?
Others
Tired and tried
Had calendars with Xs on the days
Mirroring the glaze in their eyes
Slumping and stooped
In toxic teacher’s rooms
Where triage was performed daily
10:40-12:10.
I only had so much to give
And then that too gave out.
I held out my hand
Though sometimes it was almost empty.
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