The Applause Was Real

He stepped back from the podium

and scanned the rows.

I know that look—the one that means

he's looking for my face—and I found it

before he did, which is how I know

I was one half-second late

with the smile.

The applause was still going.

I put my hands together.

He was good. Genuinely good

in a way that had nothing to do

with anything I'd taught him anymore.

The kind of good that makes a room

lean forward on its own.

I sat there with my hands between claps

feeling something I can't call pride

because pride doesn't feel like

the floor shifting under you.

He found my face.

I smiled.

He won't remember the half-second.

I won't stop.