Friday, April 30, 2010

by Laurie Kolp

Boxes and boxes fill the jam-packed garage,
(along with other normal junk)
sweet memories of my teaching days,
(twelve years to be precise)
books I felt attached to, could not part with,
(they are all over my house, too)
files that might come in handy one day,
(if I ever go back to teaching school)
knick-knacks and gifts from students,
(although I have forgotten what they are)
bulletin boards for every month, every holiday
(and everything in-between);
all waiting like forgotten photos,
(where did those photo albums go),
dozens and dozens of beat up boxes,
(after eight years of neglect),
for that day when I can finally let go,
(taking a piece of me with them).

1 comment:

Anonymous said...

I didn't teach as long as you but this poem describes my basement perfectly much to my husband's chagrin. I'm still am at the crossroads of my working life and waiting for God to lead me where he wants me to go.