abracadabra

actually, it's abecedarian

a boy talks about his math assignment while
birds chirp outside hours after a tornado. The world is still
concrete grey but they sing like we're all in a 
Disney movie and the boy is in harmony solving
equations with delight for the mysteries of x and y and
fractions, formulas, and finite numbers and frankly I want to 
go
home because 
I have a terrific cold. The boy tells me he used to know how to
juggle and also ride a unicycle. "At the same time?" I ask,
kidding. He 
laughs then says he's done with his
math work and slides it my way to check it. "I have
no idea if any of this is right," I say and he laughs again, then leaves. I stare at my
pink topsiders while the room goes 
quiet and I consider whether I
regret taking this job. I think I was too 
scared to apply for other 
teaching positions because I know I am 
unqualified and so I kept myself 
very safe and I'm bored. I 
walk to the common room where a giant cardboard 
box sits. "Book Nook. Everyone allowed," it reads. I 
yawn and look out a window at the sky. It is the color of
zested lemon, scraped sunshine, feathers of a duckling before it turns grey.