Writing

You see the teacher standing at the front of the room —

Organized. Patient. Smiling like she has all the answers.

What you don’t see is the stack of bills on her kitchen counter,

Or the nights she stays awake wondering

If yesterday

was today 

and today was tomorrow

but tomorrow 

today will be yesterday

and tomorrow will be today

and now 

is later

and later could be now

twenty-five degrees out & the air is sweet

with just enough sun to make it taste like springtime,

& flowers, & the freshness of the world after it rains.

we dance without jackets & twirl in the fading light,

Oh, no, I’m not here

For a reason.

It’s an almost comforting thing

The fleck of light of a chance

The infinite things

That had to go right.

If I were a different person

You see a mother and her daughter —

Both smiling, both beautiful, both whole.

What you don’t see is the message sitting in her pocket,

Telling her that her husband isn’t coming home from war.

There is a boy 

And there is a girl. 

Their love for each other 

Is so vast 

They would walk