I will not walk between those busses and through the glass door anymore.
I will never again nod at the librarian, pecking away in her glass walled corner office ever again.
I will never again take out my work keys and slip the wrong one into the classroom door.
When I handed them into you a part of me went with them.
It was the part of me that belonged to this place,
That belonged to the kids.
They are an aquired taste.
A challenge, wrapped in a dilemma.
The curses, complaints, and interruptions…
They will never pass through me and then echo down the hallways again.
I will never again greet an untrusting group of incoming Freshman, here.
I will never warm myself,
Through the countless frustrations
With the knowledge that some of them
Some of them
Will make it.
Despite what was at first said to them…
And eventually became swallowed as a truth.
They are my kids.
And now I can only pray that they will become someone else’s.