Last Day of School

The stillness of the room
echoed that summer vacation had arrived.
The goodbyes had been said,
but I had one left.

So I crossed the empty quiet,
to a little desk.

It too was cleaned out
but a top a vase of flowers remained.

How could I leave--
the year--the room?

I couldn't hug her, so instead
I sat down in her chair
and laid my head on her empty desk.

The ache, the emptiness of everything
filled me and pushed the tears out.

My right arm held the vase
as if in holding that, I could
hold her beauty a little longer.

This room had been where I grew
to know and love her.
For almost two year
I had been her teacher.

And when her desk stood empty--
that room was the hardest place
for me to be.

But now,
I didn't want to leave.

The room wouldn't be hers anymore
after this year.
And her desk and chair
would become someone else's.

This was the last day
of this year--
of these memories.

So I sat there, head on her desk
crying.
Unable to say good-bye.

I'd been forced to say good-bye already
and I didn't want to be forced again.

Yet here I was.
The end of the year was
pressing me out.

I did not want to
lose a student,
the bear the grief,
to be strong for my suffering students.

But I had.
And God had whispered love
at each step.

And so with love
He sent Matthew to place
wooden blocks -- I love u--
on now flowerless desk,
and help me to my feet and
walk with me,
not out of my grief, but in my grief.

I find that I will be forced to say
good-bye at moments I don't expect
as memories and grief do not
wait for certain times.

But today,
leaving her desk
is tearing my heart to pieces
and I hate to close the door
behind me.

Flowers Marissa picked me for me.