One day, a surprise.
She shows us the big plastic owl—
its yellow beak, and huge, plastic eyelashes
ridged and black.
They open and close
when she pushes one button,
his feet are yellow buttons, too,
his face wide and round,
a friendly owl.
She depresses one button—
it becomes the hour hand,
the other one the minute hand.
We leave aside the second hand, for now.
We sit, criss-cross-applesauce on the rug.
The class leans in. I lean in.
“Watch,” she says. This is a friendly owl.
Our eyes are moons.
The brown barn owl with the red hands silently faces us.
The class mouths “Ooh” and “Ahh” as they learn.
They trace the white circumference of his face,
the glossy black of the numbers.
The teacher teaches,
dazzling us all.
I mouth the numbers,
my eyes are moons.
The terror starts—
I ask it to leave. It will not leave. I am six years old.
