Please believe me when I say
I can’t get through this. Your
presence is required. I could
call the police, if need be.
Somewhere a student is writing
I will not text during class.
One hundred times. With
chalk. I’m sorry that
you don’t get the picture.
It’s symbolic. Of holiness
or naive virtue. But it’s
meant to make you think
of me. I wasn’t born
with this name. But it
is a work. It is a piece
or pieces. A stairway
to the belfry and not a
bunch of crap (unless
it’s bats in the attic).
This business of
enjoying life. A
storm subsiding.
A point about trust.
We have yet to learn
what triggers
these events. If not
for the handwritten
documentation we’d
all be newly re-
modeled parents.
With potential.
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