During teacher training, I was warned all about the challenges of getting through November as a new teacher. This phenomena was referred to as something along the lines of “long, cold, dark November”, when October half-term is a distant memory and the Christmas holidays are too far away to count down to just yet. And here I am – this is no longer a figure of speech! The “cold” part is definitely exasperated by the current requirement to push all classroom windows wide open…
It feels like a small milestone to have already made it past October half term, though, as living a daily contradiction with the label of “lockdown” leaves education settings stretched and squeezed to the limit. I tried to reflect this absurdity in this week’s poem, and hope that it might be relatable for some, whether you identify with dyspraxic traits or otherwise.
Take care everyone,
Held means Hero they make a bee line for the C line tube where we are all squeezed in: them with their juice cartons from concentrate and me with my brain cells concentrated on just getting through the day, on getting through to them in an hourglass squeezed full of sardines stuck against the frames wedged open and our few screws have come loose again as they shiver the words: "Miss, do we have to keep them open?" but coats and mouths are zipped to close down mentions of the C-word, for this tube is held by bleak Outlook pings and crippling reminders that 'Held' means hero in German- Held back with 'can't's streaming down my cheeks, Held up through the missed minutes and unsaid pep talks on weary late nights Holding us up through the missing links that test us in tubes squeezing to burst.