Alyssa Sineni: Sharp Edges

The teacher asks the little boy to read the selection.
It is on the great sloths of the Pliocene period 
or maybe it was describing the hollow nature of bird bones.
His eyes answer silently, defensive and tough. 
 
I am the teacher, wait no, I am the child.
I realize this boy will not hear me.
He will not register kindness.
He is in a dream built of bruised hurt and loneliness.
 
This was our childhood.
We were all left 
to scavenge the woods,
to leap into 
cold deep waters 
fresh from the slick 
ledge of rocky cliffs.
 
I am the teacher, wait no, I am the child.
The edges are sharp of remembering,
holding that map will cut you
on the way to the truth.
 
With my eyes, I respond,
I see you.
This is the offer,
move forward, don’t look back. 

Copyright 2020 Alyssa Sineni

Alyssa Sineni is a writer and jewelry artist who lives in Pittsburgh.