I love my job. I missed 2.5 days this week. I wrote this:
Missing the Chalk by Karla Borglum Santoro
I am a teacher.
I revel in fractions, triangles, long division,
the government of Canada, explorers, political cartoons,
poetry, Lit Circles, book reports.
I love the sound of chalk on green boards.
Sore throat strikes.
I can make it.
Sore throat drops safe me.
I don’t want to miss the fast food fact research.
Lost voice.
I can make it,
I don’t want to miss the practice for the Unit 4 math test
Or the reading of the next anthology story.
My students kindly whisper with me.
A turn for the worse. Fever. Head hurts.
After 90 minutes of trying to get the worse to pass so I can be their teacher, it’s clear I’m losing.
I can’t make it.
A sub will take my place.
I’ll miss the picking of the provinces.
I’ll miss the fast food fat discoveries.
I‘ll miss the first research in the library.
At home I sip tea with honey as I watch the clock
and envision their pencils skritching across lined paper as they pour out ideas in a free write.
I’m curious how many papers filled my edit tray.
I hear “Mrs. Santoro, do you know how much fat is in those milkshakes you like?”
I hope they did well on the Unit 4 Math test.
And I wonder if they missed me as much as I missed them.