Literally and Figuratively

As teachers we so
look forward to the
break that spring brings.
We need the energy,
the rejuvenation,
the palpable sense that
summer is near.

So why did my break
feel so lonely?
Why did I grapple so
fiercely with
an issue long since dead,
literally and
figuratively?
Why did each day,
initially so full of
promise
and
potential,
turn into an unending minefield
of emotional WMDs?

I sit quietly at Starbucks,
planning a crucial revision unit,
drinking my soymilk Chai tea, and
otherwise minding my own damned business,
when the happiest grandmother-mother duo
walks in
with the happiest newborn on the block.
No matter how loud I turn up my music,
it isn't
loud
enough.

I sit watching TV and
finishing a crochet project,
when the TV suddenly turns to
stories of sadness,
of pregnant mothers in despair
for their unborn children.

I have dinner with a dear friend,
(a dear pregnant friend,)
one of the chosen, honest few
who will tell me the truth,
no matter how hard it may be for
the two of us.
Not awkward she feels, but aware,
she says.
Aware of me, and of her,
and her constant reminders to me.
Life doesn't give us
such honesty
very often.

Why isn't this a wound that will heal?
I need to visit the Wound Care Center
for the Emotional Heart,
not so much the physical.

I need to let go of someone
I never got to hold.