Hello, good morning, and afternoon
all you pixelated, smiling school photos.
What are you doing today
when I can’t see your faces?
Hey, here’s what we’re doing in class
together. (At some point
I’ll need you to provide
me with some proof
of life.) Hey…?
When you do speak, I can hear:
your chin resting on your palm,
you leaning back in your chair,
you with your book open next to you,
you still in bed,
you smiling.
Thank you for saying
good-bye
and thank you. And
even though I wave back, there’s
something different about hearing
it through my computer.
Kind of like, how sometimes,
I can see your room
with photos, pictures posters,
your door shut behind you.
Time and space: the inevitable silence
made me sweat
but it later became a friend
I’d expect.
Something to turn
the corner of your mouth at.
Chuckle at the awkwardness:
a cliff-drop at the end
of an unsuspecting stream that I’d
fall off, but learned to stand at the edge
with arms crossed, waiting for someone to
climb back up.
By the way, how are you?
I mean, really, how ARE you?
What’s it like over there?
I don’t know how much
you learned this year.
But damned if
we ever forget it.
