By Holly Stimson
And I’m cutting an onion,
and I still can’t cry.
Maybe I have COVID.
Maybe I’ve forgotten
What a good cry smells like,
what someone else’s food
tastes like,
so I haven’t noticed
I’m sick, and we’re dying.
My students asked me
if the Amazon was still on fire.
I forgot it was ever
even burning. I missed
the forest for the flames
of all the other fires—
dumpster fires, the students
doodle in their essays
with a shrugging laugh because
what else is there to say?
They’re growing up like that.
Even onions can’t make us cry.
And they’re laughing
because they’ll never go to prom
or throw caps above their gowns.
I don’t even know
what their faces look like.
They’re laughing,
and I’m not crying,
and what else is there to say?
These are unprecedented times.
Holly is a high school English teacher who is also a real human inside and outside the classroom. She obviously enjoys reading and writing, as well as cooking, biking, and hiking in beautiful Colorado with her partner. You can follow her at Twitter @hollihocks.