COVID Classroom
I click lights on with a sanitized hand. My desk catches my teacher keys as they jingle, landing next to a stack of papers I’ll never pass back. Then there’s silence its heaviness settling like dust on the grey industrial carpet. A tower of desks leans against the wall with jagged metal limbs reaching up toward fading fluorescent lights as if tired of holding its own weight I hear no belly laughs, no frantic page turning, no chatter about the past weekend no rhythmic pencil tapping on desks no daydreamer’s sighs or muffled cellphones buzzing inside pockets I’m a performer on a stage with no audience. The ticking clock on my wall pulls me back from the catacomb of my mind So I stroll across the room, feed my orphaned plants sitting limp in their pots, and stuff my cabinets with unread class novels, finishing my quiet offering to the WiFi gods as I pray for their mercy, and wait for the world to decide if I deserve a cape or a handout or their scorn as I snap the lights back off and head to the noise waiting outside my classroom door.
1 Comment
Anees
9/4/2020 05:58:23 am
Great efforts. Beautiful like you.
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AuthorWord by word, I piece together the pictures and stories in my head. Archives
March 2021
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