I love the window
of zoom
into the homes
of my First grade students
learning the short e sound
and how to count by twos.
Some quiet and tidy,
parents standing
ready to help,
kids eating blueberry muffins.
A girl getting up to dance wildly
to the Days of the Week song
Some kids working
with baby brothers crying
toddling over to their ipads
touching their screens
So many pajamas,
and stuffed animals.
Glasses of water,
blankets.
A parent yells in the background,
Mrs. Martin, he just lied to you.
He hasn’t done Math
at all today.
Another mom
with tousled hair
uncovered by a hijab,
a toothbrush held
between her teeth,
kneels down to
help her daughter
share her screen.
The mom
who grew up
in a refugee camp in Kenya
who watched the video
I shared
of a caterpillar and
gasped in awe,
That is a butterfly?!
A boy shares with me
his electronic ninja robots
and shows me how
they fight
when he turns them on,
his mom holding the camera.
A different boy
shows me his
remote control car,
explaining that it’s out of batteries
Sometimes,
the news is blaring
from a distant tv
“Two dozen states are reporting their worst weeks ever for new cases. The S&P 500 had it worst week since March. Belgium, its infection rate back among the world’s highest, locks down.”
A dad booms,
Where are my keys?
A quiet Latina girl
in glasses
gets a toy to share
and comes back
arms spilling
with stuffed animals,
so proud.
Her little face falls
when I say,
Pick one to show us,
(which I immediately regret).
I wonder what they see
when they look at me.
Do they notice that
the lines on my face
seem to get deeper
by the end of each week?
Do they notice
that my coffee has grown cold?
I love the window
into little bits of humanity,
little bits of me.
I love
to witness
these little eternities,
these plastic toy trucks
flying across the screen
in their little hands.
