Just missing the library right now.

On March 13, when all faculty were called into school to take home essential items before the official campus closure, I walked into my office (our small school library) and wrote this poem:

Corona
the books became old friends again
had always been there
holding me into my seat
buckling me in for safety
always there
watching me fail
overdirect students
or underdirect
suggest a title that didn't fit her personality
that didn't pique his
doing it all wrong
after 10 years of teaching students
18 years of teaching, period
spines watching me fail
while urging me to keep moving
momentum of the plot
reminding me to mine my shortcomings
nudging me to
open
open
open
and remember I'm a story too
with rough edges and imperfections
a character's hates
another's true love
you do this
you wake up and you're a story
being watching and nurtured
read
spines sending you the nerve to keep at it
until she takes the book in her hands
until he nods
sometimes
we're all stories with wild and unpredictable plots

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