I stand at the front of the room and speak

At the front of the room I look out at the faces

The light is fluorescent, the faces are lit

The windows in the back of the room are dark

My mouth makes sounds like “ughh” and “thh” and “and”

My tongue shapes to the inside of my mouth and I am aware of it

At the front of the room I’m taller

I stand while others are seated

They look at me while I open my mouth, expectant, as if I will show them something

They ask a question:

The darkness comes in from outside

It seeps though the crack in the door

They ask a question

What it is about:

Behind me the white board feels uncertain, I can cover or uncover

Mosiac, I spell, “mosaic,” they say

I do not erase and replace

My mouth gets hot and makes a sound like “mo,” like “say,” like “this is where you might

second-guess yourself”

We all can hear metal being wiped in the restroom beyond the wall

We all know the cart outside waits for us to finish

They turn to the page or turn to the screen and write

I stand and write and I am aware of looking them over

My tongue folds to the edge of my mouth