Because I can’t breathe—
Crammed with my knees
Pressed to my chest,
Hiding in a closet.
I have to leave teaching
Because I can’t breathe—
With the tables and desks
Stacked and pushed against
The walls of my lungs.
Every shadow, sliding underneath
The tip of my tongue
Is a flinch–a clenched jaw.
I can’t breathe
Through the announcements,
Through the text messages,
The ‘I love you’s,
The ‘We’re on lockdown’s,
The ‘Is this a drill?’s.
Does anyone know if this is a drill?
I can’t breathe because
Whispering pulls the air tight—
Stay quiet.
Get down,
Away from the door.
If they come in the room,
Be prepared to fight.
I have to leave teaching because
the desks have become barricades,
The books act as bullet proof vests,
And in the hallways,
There are monsters
That steal away my breath.
Author's note: I wrote this poem after a lockdown drill we had last week, in contemplation of reactions, our teacher group messages, and my messages to my loved ones, along with, unfortunately, the many other drills and scares that I have been involved in as a teacher. When I was in high school, I facilitated a protest against gun violence and have now found myself a decade older as a teacher and still very much afraid of and resisting the same things.
Skye has been a public school, secondary ELA teacher in North Carolina for the past four years. She recently graduated with a Master of Arts in Teaching Secondary ELA and was named her university's Student Teacher of the Year for 2025-2026.
