Genre Reflection 1

Before the First Day

The parking lot waits solemnly cold and grey,

Finishing summer projects, thinking about the year,

Coy thoughts misguided by the past rule the day,

After all, the future may have a tear.

Awake now, September mist, inviting and true,

Old green chalkboards forlorn and dust free,

Lockers seemingly abandoned, empty and Viking blue,

Teachers and faculty always struggle to agree.

Lessons and conference calls, turkey sandwiches and bitter coffee,

Stacked high with hope and excitement, shouldering responsibility,

Crimson red and nightshade black pens waiting with glee,

Reflected in the mirror, the truth is the ability.

Perhaps when the break comes through winter’s door

I will think back on this day even more.

            While not framed in a poem, this was the apprehension and excitement in Jerold Hosuing’s mind as he collected himself on the final day before his student filled his classroom. Jerold paced the room; books were jumping off the shelves. The cold sweat, mitigated with repetitive inhales and exhales, was warmed by the acrid boiling coffee he kept pouring down his gullet. He thought to himself, “How am I ever supposed to plan a lesson when I keep getting interrupted!” Even through this frustration, Jerold’s hands barely kept still at the welcoming thought of a new year, fresh minds, and unique experiences that would soon be his reality.  After all, the truth is different every year. Jerold held a light, out of character, giggle under his breath as he thought, “Two opposing truths don’t make the other any less correct.”