Thread: A Poem About Teaching

by Stacey Lloyd

I fumble through the kitchen drawer
searching for something,
not quite sure
what,
exactly.

I come across a ball of thread, red in fact,
and my mind wonders to the classroom…

To a class who remind me of this
thread and the dread I get
in the pit of my stomach
when I try to make
them learn
something.

At times, you see, the attention of the grade nines
Is held by a clumsy, delicate thread.

If only t’were the puppeteer’s string.
My quick decisive tugs would bring
them back to the space in which
each movement I make
moves them.

Yet more often, my lessons with them
are like the threads of an old dress,
unraveling unceremoniously at the hem.

But the type of thread depends on the day.
The time, the mind of the learners in question.
On a good day, it is the delicately woven thread of an inspired silk worm,
driven by the desire to create something of beauty.

However, at others, ‘tis more like the thread of a spun web
woven by a spider desperate to entrap
an unsuspecting tea time treat.

Sometimes I hold my breath, as it appears.
My class are balanced on this thread
Like performers precariously poised
On the tightrope’s tension.

Will they reach the other side,
where knowledge waits for those
who persevere, without fear, of falling?

© Stacey Lloyd 2014 
Image Credit: Luigi Anzivino

To read more about what inspired this poem, see here.