The Hand
The teacher asks a question.
You know the answer, you suspect
you are the only one in the classroom
who knows the answer, because
the person in question is yourself,
and on that you are the greatest
living authority,
but you don't raise your hand.
You raise the top of your desk and
take out an apple.
You look out the window.
You don't raise your hand and there
is some essential beauty in your
fingers,
which aren't even drumming, but
lie flat and peaceful.
The teacher repeats the question.
Outside the window, on an
overhanging branch, a robin is
ruffling its feathers
and spring is in the air.
