Dear System:

You are broken.
Some say beyond repair.
You let them fall into
cracks so wide they
can be seen from airplanes.
You ignore the best and brightest
to honor those who
slip easily into nonchalance.

You offer little.
You take more than we can give.
You let the parents
command the details of our profession
as if they’re our salvation.
You forget the long hours,
heavy with lack of sleep,
sick with worry like mothers
of all our lost children.

Yet we trust you.
We need your broken-down support.
Without you we wouldn’t be here
to hold their hands,
to guide them through addition,
subtraction, how to think, see, be.
So we must be grateful.
We must offer our gratitude
to the cracks, the nonchalance,
the helicopter parents.

What we cannot do.
What I cannot do
is allow you to beat down
the ones who love them best
the ones who trust you most
the ones who are our best and brightest
the ones I hope someday
you will repair yourself enough to see.