I was hiding out in a coffee shop
pretending to be
a member of polite society
when I saw a former student.
A girl. I couldn’t remember her
name, even though
it had only been two years
since she sat in my class. I remembered
she smiled a lot and said very little
like most girls:
raised to be polite;
raised to smile in a manner
their mothers taught them.
She used to sit in front, I think
casting big blue freshman eyes. She behaved
the way ‘A’ students do—
submissive and
blissfully confused.
We didn’t speak to one another
in the coffee shop. It had taken me
half the semester to remember
her name. Now
I can’t recall a single word
she wrote.
