Thursday, June 6, 2013
If It's Thursday, I Must Be Tingling, From the Cold.
especially on the early morning walk
from the room at the inn to the campus.
I am being feted and cheesed and wined
by a lovely little college,
and teaching a class and seminar
each day in exchange for their kindness.
I tingle on the first morning.
Across a lovely campus,
toward a lovely room with real chairs
and hot coffee.
And the students, unknown to me,
One woman sits in a chair facing me.
She's scowling as if someone
had run over her cat,
or stolen her hat,
or spied where she shat.
I try to ignore her glare
for the opening remarks,
but it is difficult.
She is the closest person to me.
The minutes drag. I keep losing my place.
I say one thing, and wonder if I'd already said it.
The rest of the room smiles and nods.
I get some momentum.
But then the scowler meets my eyes again.
She freezes me with the same look.
The class can't end soon enough.
I stand up, wobbly,
disoriented, the cold?
The location? These giant trees?
The scowler is walking ahead of me,
she breeches the door,
starts one direction, then turns back.
She hits me with one last glare.
And she's gone.