Member-only story
Mechanics
a poem
She sits alone in the lit room,
head bent over book. Occasionally
she moves her hand to make a note, learning
the mechanics of remembering.
In the rooms above and below her
the janitors walk past the windows,
the sunlight striping their faces
like streaks of paint.
I am in the next building. All day
I watch the students fill and empty
the room with great slowness,
like a surrealistic wave
trapped in a plexiglass cube.
She is waiting. I can see
how she looks up just before
the door opens and the teacher
comes in. He nods as if they
might be strangers. He moves
to the window and snaps closed
the blinds, like eyelids quickly
shutting out too much light.
And the light pulls away, startled
at such abandonment. Everywhere
there is something to fear.
__________
Copyright 2009 Marguerite Floyd all rights reserved
This poem first appeared in Everyone’s Daughter, 2009
