An Open Letter To the Bookworm Plushie That is Sitting on the Desk and Staring Right At Me

Your black eye that is encircled by

A capuchin monkey-fur colored ring

Is gazing at me

As your fluffy yellow body

Shaped like a slightly deformed Cheeto

Lies on a stack of books and papers

Maybe it’s the lack of a nose

But you remind me of the Sphinx

Unmoving and unchanging.

I don’t know a lot about you

Except that you appear to scare the crap out of my friend

And when he lobs you at me

After I place you on his shoulder

Despite your cute and nonthreatening appearance

You hurt like a bitch when you smack me.

I’m not particularly curious

As to how you arrived in the classroom

(Although it’s gripping, I’m sure)

No, what I’m more curious about is

What your life was like.

What book did you grow up in?

Looking at you, I’m thinking

Richard Scarry or Dr. Seuss

I really loved those two when I was little

I wonder if we ever met beforehand.

Where did your parents come from?

Where did they meet?

Did they meet in a Tolstoy novel?

Perhaps they met in A Comedy of Errors

I’m sure there were many mistaken identities before

They got together.

Did you have adventures, before you came to our humble classroom?

I bet you fought many courageous cockroaches

Bent on world domination

Was there a girl or a boy?

Why aren’t they with you now?

Did they die in your arms?

Were you unable to save them?

Or did they leave you?

Or did you leave them?

What must you think of us

As you watch us in the classroom

We’re certainly not the only class you watch

But I’m only in this classroom once a day

And I just wonder what you think of my class.

Are we too loud for you?

Normal human voices must feel like thunder to you

And we’re a very loud class.

Are we interesting?

I’d like to think so

We seem like a likeable bunch

Do you like us?

Or are we just something else to sit through

Before the quiet at the end of the day?

I hope we don’t bother you

And you don’t really bother me

Although if you felt so inclined

You could stop staring at me

You never blink, you see

And it’s a little worrying.

Sincerely,

The girl who sits at the desk

At the almost but not quite

End of the room.

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