Morning with Mrs. B

Enrobed and groggy, I find her at the bathroom mirror
in the navy blue blazer that hugs her white turtleneck.
An eyebrow arches as she frowns at the forty-ish face
that stubbornly frowns back. I see someone different
than she does, and kiss her plump cheek in reassurance.

She's ready to leave for her other world, a war
rivaling Troy for the souls of twenty-six children.
The soft smell of flowers and musk, like a whisper,
conspires with upturned eyes and a farewell smile
to break my heart as I let her out the front door.

I've seen the quick delight on her students' faces
when we chance to meet them in town, and seeing
the empty mailbox, I wonder if I'll come home to find
the dreaded letter, neatly written in 5th-grade script,
asking if Mrs. B could please come home with them.