The Introvert Professes
In front of class, I ask questions
they stare at desks, windows, wrists.
The bold ones meet my exasperated gaze
and say nothing. We play this game
twice a week and my soul recoils, dreads
the energetic tugs I must now make. I
stifle sarcasm, disappointment, ridicule,
tears. I try to be my best encouraging self.
I call random student names until predictable
hands spike and wave, brains engage, words
tumble out of unhinged mouths. That moment
of silence, before these machinations, is everything
I dread, and nowhere I want to be.
I'm loving all of your poems, but wow does this resonate! Although I'm not an introvert, I do so relate to "That moment of silence, before these machinations, is everything I dread, and nowhere I want to be." Thanks for sharing your lovely words and thoughts through poetry.
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