Tag Archives: the pandemic school year

#387: Poem on April 13, 2021

My school house.

Some new habits have already fallen away. For example, I think I went three days in a row without a preamble. Either I found it unnecessary (as it actually should be with poetry), or I just ran out of time or energy or both. But I continue with the continuity of titles or the lack thereof–which is an easy habit to keep up as it requires not a single iota of creativity. Each poem is titled with the day the poem was composed. Easy peasy. Today’s poem does not follow a prompt, but has been coming on for some time. As a teacher, the return to my building, to interact with students in person for the first time this school year, has been ever present in my mind. So here’s this:

Poem on April 13

Students will return to school
on April 26 after learning at home
exclusively for a full three quarters
of a school year.
Teachers will return to school
on April 26 after teaching at home
exclusively for a full three quarters
of a school year.
Some teachers will return to school
on April 26 after teaching alone
in their empty classrooms
for a full three quarters
of a school year.
Some students and some teachers
will enter a building this spring
for the first time, literally, a building
they have never stepped foot inside.
Everyone will be masked.
Everyone will keep at least three
feet of distance.
Masked teachers, it appears,
might be wearing microphones
so that the mumbling they do
will be more or less comprehensible
and that their voices will endure
the three hours every afternoon
when they are in the presence
of live students.
In the morning, beginning April 26,
all students and teachers will continue
learning and teaching in empty classrooms
or at home, as they have done
for a full three quarters
of a school year.
Each group of those computer kids
will have a chance to join their teachers
as real live kids–twice for each class
every week in the afternoons
in actual true-to-life classrooms.
Teachers have to decide,
after they have taught their computer kids
and then some of those same students
show up as real kids, what to do now
with the live ones, knowing that they
can’t theoretically give the live students
something that the computer students
didn’t have, in fairness. Although,
we know, don’t we, that they will
end up giving the live students
something that the computer students
didn’t have, by necessity and in actuality.
Time. Opportunities to explain, to clarify,
to demonstrate, to repeat, to unmuddy
the botched computer lesson, to observe,
to supplement, to look into the eyes of
students and to hear their voices
for the very first time. For students,
time and opportunities to question,
to write by hand, to speak, to be heard,
to be helped, to be seen.
Teachers also have to decide
how they will continue to do
the things they were already doing for a full
three quarters of a school year
with the three or four hours they
are now dedicating to the live ones
in the room. They weren’t sitting
on the couch eating bonbons;
they weren’t lounging by the pool
or taking exhaustive afternoon naps
or enjoying early afternoon cocktails.
So the most difficult school year
of their careers gets a little bit more
difficult even as it gets a little more
joyful at the same time. We’re banking
on that last bit. This school year,
almost more than anything else,
needs a shot, maybe even two doses,
of some serious joy, an infusion
of happiness, a strong, exuberant finish.

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