The Circling

I couldn't say why the proposal felt wrong.

The words broke. I started, then stopped.

Then I was back in her classroom, where I'd been all along—

Mrs. Chen, the chalk, the way she'd crop

a circle around a word on the board.

Not asking what it meant. Asking what lay

underneath. Say that, she'd say. That's what you're toward.

Say the thing underneath. Every single day.

In the meeting, I went quiet. Thirty seconds of air.

Everyone felt it. The silence, tight and long.

Then I said it. The actual sentence, bare.

The thing underneath. And I knew I'd been right all along.

Someone nodded. They'd waited for this.

I understood then: I'd never left that room.

Every time I'm supposed to know, I still miss

nothing. I'm still in that chalk-dust classroom.