september

doctrine I, MWF 14:00.
his voice rumbles, or maybe
it purrs
—but not like that.
strongly, lion-like.
when his words dip down
into that golden decibel,
that cavernous, cozy, loud, warm hum,
i feel the polished cover of
the textbook in my lap
vibrate beneath my fingertips,
shivering like a struck bell.

twenty-four freshly-sharpened pencils
(all yellow)
are never too many pencils.

my blue blue backpack is
the heaviest thing.
my red red heart is
all light.