Starting Over

Reflections on the next to the last day . . .

Looking back is rarely

the best way to proceed

You might just trip over

obstacles ahead

But look back I must---

not without a certain longing

a longing to have done more

to have been better

to have inspired not fear and loathing

but pride and confidence

Failing myself, my young protégés,

my mother, and all my ancestors

I am tempted to give up

to admit defeat . . .

But then

at the last possible second

a light appears, a faint light

down a long dazzling tube

It’s so---beautiful

“Follow the light,”

a warm, enveloping voice intones.

“Follow the light.”

It’s so---beautiful

and I float up away from the hunched figure

tapping out remorse on the keyboard . . .

I am light as a feather as I hover there

“Follow the light.”

It’s so beautiful.

And I laugh . . .

“What are you doing?”

It’s Ben and I realize that I am

not hovering over the hunched figure

I am the hunched figure---still

“Are you laughing at your own writing?”

Ben asks.

Elizabeth scowls

“Yes,” I say.

And we’re back . . .

Bring it, Semester 2!