The Little Blue Schoolhouse (Poem) by Kristen Kindoll

A yawn begins the day, and a dash of coffee,

Exhausted before the sun is fully awake.

My intentions remain fixed on the sublime,

Life challenges my idealism.

‘E’ does not equal anticipated length and breadth,

No matter–coincidentally–the subject is science.

Numbers are next–predictability in our unpredictable life.

Growth is steady–slow–time is endless.

In reality, moments are fleeting, now late for therapy.

Mantra for us both: breathe in and out,

A diagnosis received: Balance in all things,

Not too early to be anxious or too late for hysterics.

Listen to stories of other typical worlds in our atypical car,

By thee, whether true or not, literature is complete.

Victories are minute…pronunciation is key–

Minute or Minute, Special or Disability.

Back to Time–Heading home through a dark woods,

Not as foreboding as the doctors’ tales weaved.

Reach the proverbial hill;

Jill wheels Jack up the grassy knoll,

Tilting against society’s windmills.

Don Quixote & Sancho Panzo reach our castle.

Safe around the hearth within

The Little Blue Schoolhouse.