Dear Buried Teacher,
A pair of eyes, blink.
Blink beneath the rubble,
Rubble made up of projects with missing pieces
Missing pieces that reflect how she feels
She feels like she can’t get out of the pile
The pile that pulls her down like quick sand
Quick sand sucks her down with every climb
Every climb that mocks her desires
Desires to be finished and done
Done with the year
The year that stole so much
So much more than she could even imagine
“Imagine,” she says “What could happen next year?”
Next year she’ll be her best self.
The self she wanted to be this year but couldn’t
Couldn’t sustain motivation or endurance
Endurance to persevere on the worst days
Days when life seemed to clinch her throat and tell her lies
Lies laced in the jagged truth
The truth that yes, this is hard, so hard
So hard it makes you want to quit
Quit trying, quit fighting, quit believing
Believing things will get better
Better believe, though, the process will come
Come to heal and restore the broken pieces
Pieces that can, and will, live again
Again, and again, and again.
Again, it’s worth considering, “What could happen next year?
-CDB