Ready To Begin

I am the spiral staircase.

Ham on rye.

The bottom of the bowl

licked clean

by my teachers.
So many hands on my body

I can no longer tell

which ones are mine.

The girl in the back of the room.
The shy one,

who knew all the answers,

but was too afraid to answer.

Yes, that one.

I waited in corners,

shadows of my own making,

and hoped someone would

come.

Now, you are here.

Pushing me out with your broom.

Telling me I can be more

than I have been.

Wrenching the strength from my arms

with your measured brown eyes.

Refusing to accept my protests,

or believe my little-girl tears.

I would curse you if I could,

but it wouldn’t change a thing.

Tomorrow, 

I will be at your door

again, 

ready to begin.