Karis Lee
Poetry
Karis Lee is a middle-school teacher. Her work can be found in MudRoom Magazine and is forthcoming in Rogue Agent. She lives and writes in Washington, DC.
Alone at Passing Period
my classroom has no windows,
only a maybe-skylight. a skylight
if you squint, forcibly widen
its four tiny slits
of light, blur the orange
reese’s wrapper lodged in the ledge.
there is the clock, its ticks
emanating. and my voice,
when i choose to use it.
now that they’ve left,
i understand. Who would want to
be here, with me?
it is april. i know how to recognize
the word bitch
in three languages.
i know my students, the sound
of their clicks. their
hurriedness has taken
root in my chest. last night,
i dreamt
of cardinals,
scarlet flashes building
nests, animals alive
in their instinct.
how long, God?
my many faults,
come count them.
“ My first year of teaching was difficult to talk about and near impossible to write about—describing the physical space felt like the most natural entry point. If you are a teacher, know that I love you. ”
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