I remember
you backed me
into the supply closet -
"Why?!" you demanded,
"Why not?"
and I
didn't have an
answer for you.
My hands
rolled fists
and you cornered me
behind the door
with one arm
reached out
like half a net
ready
to tangle me in
my own uncertainty.
And then -
he walked in,
an adult
a teacher
and maybe
he saw -
saw the
anger condensing
on your skin
and the sweat
of vulnerability
on mine.
He opened
the door
extra wide
and you left
and
we never
talked about it
again.
