Grin and grimace, wilt to death…
Is what she is thinking as the instructor drones,
“You try it now, O.K.?”
She is thinking, but does not say anything.
Her hands hang limply at her sides, dangling and twiddling, disconnected.
Vacantly she makes a feeble scratch on the paper; this was B.C.-before computers:
So she doesn’t perform well – or at all -this is why she is in the class for kids with “learning disabilities”, but it is not inspiring her to try; what they attempt to teach her interests her not in the slightest; and none has ever asked her what she would like to study.
She has taught herself the cyrillic alphabet so she can write and be assured very few will be able to decipher it, and in class composes pieces to be notated later:
I’m a swastika girl, enthroned and ready to go; throw over the throne and run with the jewels, smile risus sardonicus, torture them by hinting there may be hope. Just to let them know you care…
The amber king and his agate queen stroll in moss supreme; monkey ferns drape the jungle like teenagers drape cars; my hands start to tremble because I know no one was there then, but cease shaking because I know there is power in them, power to change what is now, which is really, was really then.
An archer girl looks like Cupid with tits, plants the world with plutonium roses between the curves of equidistant rainbows; from Holland the swallows follow her barefoot blondeness.
State of shock
We were so far gone
Wanting to come way, way away.