Mr. K

The morning after your funeral,
I walked past your classroom
and stood in the doorway
to take in how much of you
filled every corner.

Photos of your wife
your infant daughter

Cubs memorabilia
Lambeau souvenirs
fantasy brackets
still pinned to a bulletin board

Five years worth
of student projects

collected dust in the quiet
Saturday sun.

Less than 24 hours before,
I sat in a pew
while the Catholics kneeled
prayed
communed

and hoped you knew
how much the world of your classroom
spilled over into our stories

our heavy hearts
made lighter
by how much of you is still here.