Remote Teaching

 
“Try it,” they said.
And so I did.
I plugged in my laptop,
Charged my phone,
Downloaded apps,
And taught my classes to an empty room.
 
But I knew the truth.
Sarah would need help on part C.
Elaina’s long division would snake down the page in an un-manageable blur
            Because she would not use graph paper.
Jeffery doesn’t understand complements, and neither does his mother.
Patrick will miss most of every subject, listening instead
             To the call of woods in his backyard.
“Try it,” they said.
And so we did—
The moms and I.
But both of us knew the truth.
They weren’t sure what a compound verb was.
A misplaced comma—was that one wrong, or two?
Was casting out nines really a thing?
How important is it to use a formula?
What do you count off for fractions un-reduced?
 
“Try it,” they said.
And so we did.
But no one guessed the hardest part—
The secret ever teacher carried in her heart.
It wasn’t teaching over WhatsApp that made her sigh—
Although that may account for early baldness.
It wasn’t trying to calm a dozen panicked mothers,
Hyper-conscientious with their checking.
No, it was something more.
 
“Try it,” they said.
And so I did.
But I forgot to count the cost:
Going days without seeing the faces of those I love.
Hearing their voices only through a phone.
Not glimpsing those shy good-morning smiles.
Never seeing their eyes light up when they catch on.
Missing the slightly parted lips as they listen, absorbed, to story hour.
No shouts of jubilation at recess,
No fingers twirling hair in concentration.
 
“Try it,” they said.
And so I did,
But no one guessed
The part that hurt the worst
Was simply
Missing them.