Never once did my pain feel like an inconvenience
something to be left at the classroom door, ignored,
or made into an extraordinary thing
You welcomed me with caring bright
green eyes from across the room
as if saying I understand and you are safe here
a space you created for all of us to just be:
children learning about science
Before today, I saw you through ten-year-old eyes
when I became your student and entered class time
however I needed—in a wheelchair, clutching a walker,
carried to and from classrooms by my father
Before I, myself, knew that you knew
what it felt like to smile
through an abounding
bone-deep-ache
what it takes to show up
day after day
in a body on rebellion
nobody can see, except
You did see me
and how I never saw your pain
is my mystery to keep, though
Today, I am only here
to say thank you
for seeing me then
and letting me see you, now
My retired fifth grade teacher
a fellow warrior
my friend
I look back and all along
you were simply guiding us
to approach in kindness
and fairness the unsolvable
life-altering equation of becoming