Door #6

Hunkered down, nerve-numb,
in the carnal hut,
the cave of self,
while outside a storm
rages.
          Huddled there,
rubbing together
white sticks of
your own ribs,
praying for sparks
in that dark
where tinder is heart,
where tender is not.


Trauma (Storm) by Gregory Orr


Lately it stays dark almost the whole way to work. This picnic table tucked away by the back entrance always looked like it would be a decent place for a break - though usually it feels like there's too much going on for much of a break. This morning I was struck by the mood of the spot in the darkness and took a quick photo.

Six hours later, after a series of troubling events involving children in crisis, I just had to give myself that break and came out to this table to eat and collect myself. For about 15 minutes it was just what I needed.

After school I went and got my Covid booster. The nurse asked if I was in a high risk occupation. I told her I what I did and she said "I suppose some of the kids you spend time with don't always wear their masks." I just laughed.