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Improv 1, Week 6

The Missing Child

Like token feathers plucked from a broken bird,
the parents are separated from their daughter.
The dresses on their hangars don’t say a word,
and slumping like a dirty shirt, the father
wears unaware his stains. What was labor
and what was a given? Breathing was a given.
The mother dreams she is her own neighbor
who has a living daughter. The father is driven
livid by men in suits and women in jewels.
The parents, when they put on their masks and walk
away from each other as those who pace in duels,
keep walking with their faith turned dumbest luck
and accordions for lungs. Her birthday chair
is light and heavy, like cake flour. Or air.

---------------------------------------

Teachable Moment

A child can accomplish anything as long
as a friend is near; can tell time vicariously
through a best friend. What you learn,
I know. We work like a colored lens and light.
The observing teacher imagines them as attached twins,
or teaching them how to read short and long hands,
but this is English class. A digital clock
just will not do. I take off my glasses
to as act as if I cannot see the lack of ability
that should have been learned five years ago.
The missing is small and ashamed, was never there.
Like a child that can’t tell time.
Like an instinct to teach it.

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