The sun is rising over New York City at 6:15am tomorrow morning,
which is my father’s 62nd birthday and I sit in the dark of this
kind of night and
think only of the apology I would offer the students that I cannot
teach them how to calculate the sunset from sunrise or
the altitude at solar noon
knowing too that if I were to read them my version of a sunrise calculation
with tea and the words of a certain writer which
remind us that we do not have to dare, to
pray, to be happy, that daily, the sun creates the world again,
they would scoff, bored, confused.
I am so sorry,
I would say, so tired,
so hungry for their own words.
so desperate for their words
that I carry pencils in my hair
that I chase them through linoleum
hallways, that I give them Tuesday and Thursdays or Everyday to come I would ask them-
What do you thirst for?
Have you ever been this lonely?
Will I ever be so angry as to ever so casually dare to say I would
shoot the whole class like Kevin did and a SWAT team almost came to the school.
He like me better now- he asks me to draw
him things to copy, ask me for advice on color, line, shading, anatomy.
I would do anything, almost, to affirm the unspoken apology.