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This teacher giggles,
when I ask if my words could belong in print,
Perhaps he laughs from a place of care,
a man
who believes
he is teaching
a class
on humility
and this light cruelty
is a part of the curriculum
He doesn’t know my backstory
Where I was raised
silence is survival
war
whispers
My grandmother's bedtime stories
all about how she was pulled from school,
married off,
her own dreams changed too soon.
He doesn't know this backstory but
he laughs
he
thinks
I will
learn
the lesson
to disappear
from
his
books
He doesn’t know
the borders I crossed in silence,
another teacher,
another stone,
another weight,
placed gently on my back
I lift it.
I’ve lifted heavier things.
Each laugh, each sneer,
each glance of disdain,
I’ve carried them all
He laughs,
but still,
I’m here.
So I laugh
At his dark comedy
too.
At the gate he keeps
money,
connections,
pure, dumb luck.
cheers to this humble academic
with the slightest bit of authority
as he gives me the lowest grade in the class
after hearing my question
and maybe he wonders if I deserved even less