Behind me, they await
and I strain my neck trying to fit into the frame
I shift back standing at an awkward angle,
mouth a dessert road longing for hydration, stifled, muted
Behind me, they chat a low murmur slowly rising, I face the chatter a glimpse of what used to be bubbles to the surface, but then—
the empty bulletin boards pierce me back to the muzzled present
Behind me are the days of standing in a circle and playing games. The days of a free mind, free of anxiety, free of fear, frustration, anger.
Behind me are half my students’ names burning holes in my blouse from the insides of their homes. In front of me? Masked faces, tiny eyes squinty from laughing about the steam breath inside our masks.
Behind me, I wait breathing in the influx of my new normal, searching for a slice of hope, yearning for a stream of light to warm the tiny slice of exposed skin.
