I.
In tenth grade the teacher said
“The paper is due tomorrow
I don’t want to hear
about any broken arms
or anything”

That evening I hurt my shoulder
playing basketball
and cry begged my mom
to type what I said
despite her protestations
the absurdity, my hysteria
we needed to go to the doctor
I wouldn’t budge
I wanted to be someone
who exceeded expectations
What was wrong with that
gosh darn it?

I still remember tying my arm
in my mom’s blue scarf
the next morning
to get on the subway
to hand her the paper and say
“I’m sorry I have to go
to the emergency room
I think I hurt my shoulder”

After surgery, the doctor said
as soon as the anesthesia took hold
my shoulder fell from its socket
my body relaxed
rotator cuff tear clear
broken clavicle, dented back
ready to be cared for

Later the teacher called my house
sputtering apologies to my mother,
my mother blaming me
for misinterpreting

Despite delirium
I had no regret

II.
Yesterday I found two of my students
in hysterics over writing due tomorrow

I pick my brain for what I said
what gesture I made
to make them fear this way

It dawns on me
I’ve discussed double meanings

I smile over their growing
interpretive brilliance;

my own hidden messages
to never ever give up