Goodbyes usually get poems full of tears and tenderness. Linda B's "What To Do With All The Goodbyes," dated June 2, 2011, is more interested in what happens when there are simply too many of them. The speaker, evidently someone who works in a school, is at the end of the year, surrounded by departures, and wants a way to make the feeling stop. The central idea is a tension. Goodbyes deserve care and warmth, but feeling them over and over is exhausting, so the speaker looks for somewhere to put them.
The first line frames this as a chore: "How should I finish the goodbyes?" The verb is "finish," not "say," as though goodbyes were a pile of marking. The next lines confirm it. The speaker has spent weeks "finding good, appropriate, warm, special, and creative ways / to say goodbye." That string of adjectives sounds like a checklist, and the pressure to be original every time is part of what wears her out. The poem then lists who is leaving: students heading to high school, students going to other schools, teachers moving or changing careers, and finally the head of school, who is "moving to another life challenge." The phrase is a gentle euphemism, the kind of tactful wording the speaker has been practising for weeks.
The poem's main image arrives with a decision: "I feel I am ready to stuff all the goodbyes into one beautiful box." The verb "stuff" is brisk and a little rough, and it sits oddly next to "beautiful." The contents are listed in short lines, nearly one word each: "hugs, / waves, / cheers." Even "good lucks" and "I'll miss you's" are pluralised into things that can be dropped in. Then the speaker admits what is really in the box: "the fluttery feelings of heartache / that I don't want to feel anymore." "Fluttery" is delicate, almost like something trapped, and the next lines are all packing: "shut and taped down for this year." The box seems meant for storage, like holiday decorations, with the promise of reopening "next time, / when I ready myself for endings again." Using "ready" as a verb makes the preparation sound like work.
The second stanza swaps the box for a game: Bingo. The comparison is unexpected, and it fits. Bingo is a game of waiting, and the player has no control. You sit "dutifully marking the numbers as they're called," just as the school calendar calls out its own names. "Slowly, the squares are taken, and the line is made." Then comes the poem's only shout, "BINGO," in capitals, and the energy drains away. "It's over" is repeated until it stops sounding like news and starts sounding like a sigh. Notice that "won or lost, and it's over" treats winning and losing as the same thing. The pronoun also shifts to "you" ("You've done all you could"), as if the speaker were consoling herself. The last line, "It's time to put them all away this year," returns to the box and closes the lid.
There is no rhyme, and the poem would sound false with it. Free verse suits a plain, tired, conversational voice. Some lines run long and prose-like, as in the catalogue of departures, while others shrink to single words. The rhythm therefore mimics the experience, a heap of obligations followed by small, separate gestures. Repetition does the work a refrain would: "goodbye," "goodbyes" and "it's over" come back like the same event happening again.
The poem matters because it is honest about something people rarely admit: caring for others in an institution is repeated emotional labour. It does not pretend that every farewell is a golden moment. Its speaker wants to feel less, and she also clearly cares deeply, or there would be no heartache to pack away. The poem is also a kind of box itself, since writing it down is one way of taping the feelings shut. For students, who are usually the ones leaving, it offers a view from the other side of the goodbye.