Poetry Week | Teacher by James Whyte


by James Whyte


Your eye is still water, absorbing 

the cloudy agitation of teenagers.


Your ear holds their voices, the clang 

of metal lockers echoing 


in the dim corridors of your dreams.

You know there is nothing emptier


than an empty school – a trickle

of water, a creak, the unexpected


whine of wind in forlorn corners.

Rooms full of absence. The deafening


tick of a clock measures the slow

hollowing of floorboards and bannisters, 


slow growth and attrition 

of vanished hands and feet.


Interminable childhood minutes 

stretching to aeons. Your own


seasoned voice resounds, sanded,

polished and showing its grain. 

Please check our submissions page for guidelines on submitting. To read previous Poems of the Week check out our Poetry Archive.

Cover photo by Barry Zhou on Unsplash