By Frances Klein
In my windowless office, trying to
soothe a sophomore so jealous of tender
touch he puts his fists through every soft thing
that comes close. We wait, me modeling
deep breathing, him exhaling names: every
adult who failed to keep their promises.
We go on this way, our own parallel
universes, until each black pupil
no longer eclipses its sclera, until
his hands relax, fingernails leaving white
crescent moons to revolve across each palm.
When we leave the office, the sun is high
and whole, no trace of the moment the world
dove into dark and considered staying.
Lesson 243: Serving School Lunch to a Runaway
By Frances Klein
Runaway! among the berry bushes,
branches end of summer bare, the wild blue-
berries of his eyes scanning the parking lot for any sign
of danger. I spread a table with every tempting thing
a teen boy might crave: twinkies! gushers! savory
discs of doritos! pretzels waiting to snap between teeth!
Salt, sugar, and spice surrounding the one outlier
my mother-heart can’t resist adding: a lone apple,
skin dull in comparison to the flashy packaging
of its companions, bumbling bear among foxes.
He eats like a black hole in a boy suit, oreos
dark as the hollow of the tree that held him
all through the night when his kin closed their doors
and hurried back to the table before their dinners went cold.
Frances Klein (she/her) is an Alaskan poet and teacher. She is the 2022 winner of the Robert Golden Poetry Prize. Klein is the author of several poetry chapbooks, including “(Text) Messages from The Angel Gabriel” (Gnashing Teeth Press, 2024). Her full length collection Another Life is forthcoming in 2025. Klein’s writing has appeared or is forthcoming in Best Microfiction, The Harvard Advocate, The Atticus Review, HAD, and others.
