A perspective poem, written from the perspective of a child as she ponders the empty cubby by the wall in her classroom. I’ve only written a handful of perspective poems over the years, though I would like to write more.
The Empty Cubby
The cubby hole is empty
where your lunchbox used to be,
and everyone seems quieter today.
There is an eerie stillness,
like the playground in between
our recess time when we go out to play.
The Teacher tried to tell us,
when we all came in for class,
that you were never coming back again.
We asked a lot of questions,
but it was hard to understand
the way she hid her face as if in pain.
All morning long, your best friend
Tommy turned to face the door
whenever anybody entered through.
At recess in the play yard
he sat out by the handball court
alone and staring up into the blue.
We know that something’s happened.
Somehow we know that something’s changed.
Nobody is the way they usually seem.
We didn’t even play much
when we had our classroom brakes.
The whole entire day is like a dream.
Now class is almost over,
but no-one seems to really care
the round clock on the wall is nearing three.
I think they all are thinking
of the cubby with your name.
The cubby where your lunchbox used to be.
