By Christopher Clauss
After two weeks she is back in the science room
wilting at a lab bench but here, and asking what she missed
No one ever said where she had gone, or why
only that she would be away for a while the absence of detail betraying both
This is the dance, then, hospitalization the tension of speaking of a thing
without saying it a masquerade we do not acknowledge
Here is a paper; this is what we did that day
Her eyes drift, possibly to where she was that morning
I tell her it’s good to have her back
She smiles a thank-you but can’t form the words
Her eyelids well up but don’t overflow
We both pretend I haven’t noticed
This is the dance, then; the balancing act
the tightrope we will walk today and never mention
I spread before her a safety net of notes and practice problems
Lay out a plan to catch her up bit by bit in the coming days
If it’s too much, I tell her
It’s ok to let me know; An eyelid fails her
One drop plummets toward a photocopy of the Bohr model of the atom
She smiles, nervous and ashamed
For a moment we both just look at the splatter
We make a plan for Monday; She says, If I’m here then.
I assure her
she will be
Christopher Clauss (he/him) is an introvert, Ravenclaw, father, poet, photographer, and middle school science teacher in rural New Hampshire. His mother believes his poetry is "just wonderful." Both of his children declare that he is the "best daddy they have," and his pre-teen science students rave that he is "Fine, I guess. Whatever." Christopher's first full-length book of poetry, Photosynthesis & Respiration is now available from Silver Bow Press.
