In your heart of hearts, who did you expect me to become?
Was I, acclaimed professor, nodding sagely as my students stressed in my office about credits and life? Was I the master high school teacher who was nominated for yearbook dedication every other year? Was I balancing babies on my hips and wearily glancing at the laundry piling up? Was I a novelist, scribbling phrases in the corners of notebooks as I taught women how to code their own revolutions?
Was I you?
Did you believe I’d fail? Did you expect to sand my pieces again when everything grated against each other? Did you resign yourself to picking me up by the scruff of my neck and depositing me to a man? Would you have been happy if I was just Ms.? How many oceans did your faith in me span?
Would you be proud of me? What would your face say when I bowed my head for my medallion? What would your heart cry when mine lit out for Michigan? Would I have valued your words as much as I hate their absence?
What would you have told me as I sobbed over the 13-year-olds who derailed my entire class? As I spend hours crafting feedback? As I tore myself apart over fuzzy futures? Who would you have told me to become?
Have you asked God yet why he asked for you so early? So
Was I, acclaimed professor, nodding sagely as my students stressed in my office about credits and life? Was I the master high school teacher who was nominated for yearbook dedication every other year? Was I balancing babies on my hips and wearily glancing at the laundry piling up? Was I a novelist, scribbling phrases in the corners of notebooks as I taught women how to code their own revolutions?
Was I you?
Did you believe I’d fail? Did you expect to sand my pieces again when everything grated against each other? Did you resign yourself to picking me up by the scruff of my neck and depositing me to a man? Would you have been happy if I was just Ms.? How many oceans did your faith in me span?
Would you be proud of me? What would your face say when I bowed my head for my medallion? What would your heart cry when mine lit out for Michigan? Would I have valued your words as much as I hate their absence?
What would you have told me as I sobbed over the 13-year-olds who derailed my entire class? As I spend hours crafting feedback? As I tore myself apart over fuzzy futures? Who would you have told me to become?
Have you asked God yet why he asked for you so early? So
late?
Did I feel it, sitting in that cramped classroom? Did I feel your love wither and
Did I feel it, sitting in that cramped classroom? Did I feel your love wither and
snap, slip the surly bonds of physicality?
In your last moments, did you remember me? Did you reach out and say goodbye?
In your last moments, did you remember me? Did you reach out and say goodbye?
Inspired by Cristin O’Keefe Aptowicz’s poems “Dark Luck,” “Eleven Months After,” and “Five Months After.” Also, check out Hanif Willis-Abdurraqib’s “While Watching the Music Video for 'Only One' at Midnight, Kanye West Walks Into the Fog Holding His Daughter in His Arms and I Can See the Clouds Outside of My Window Parting Into Two Wings.”
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