I’ve spun out with nasty bronchitis this week. So no morning music. No sweat. Totally burned out. Can’t wait for meds to kick in. But enough of that.
Let’s see … a poem then. This one was published in the English Journal in July 2007. I had left my teaching job about year before that. And, about five years ago, I was probably just realizing how much I needed to move on from the classroom. I did just that in June 2006.
She Left Teaching Because
Huck had headed out to the territory
one too many times.
She left because she told
students to discover their passions.
She left because of rubrics.
She left because Hester Prynne wouldn’t
and Dimmesdale couldn’t.
She left because she started planning
her summer vacation in February—
okay, January. Okaaay, November.
She left because it was time
to find Kunitz’s garden.
She left because Thoreau’s distant drum
kept disrupting her classroom.
She left because she still could.
She left because some days
she wanted to give everyone an A—
and some days an F.
She left because the things she carried
were no longer a storyteller’s truth.
She left teaching because
it was time to go.