Mo at the Workshop

Photo by NeONBRAND on Unsplash

I used to teach live, in-person classes. I hope I will again one day. Until that day, thee are memories like this one.

Her eyelids lower with the lights, every time

I would be forgiven for thinking she is sleeping,

but when I stand by her table,

where her arm is stretched across with her head resting on it,

she picks up a pen and moves just enough to tell me --

I see you. Go away.

How could I expect her attention,

fueled as she is by Big Red, Cool Ranch Doritos,

and the needs of a son she raises alone?

On the last day, she sits still in her place

while the rest of the room whirls around her,

we talk.

The bottom half of her face still set in armour,

she releases her eyes and they shine

full of uncertain tenderness,

enough for me to dare a touch on the shoulder.

Her mouth twists against me

her eyes soften and fill

I walk away while she pulls her softness back

tucks it away but

leaves a sliver of it out.

I see it glimmer from the corners of my eyes.