The Hand
Mary Ruefle, 1952
The teacher asks a question.
You know the answer, you suspect
you are the only one in the classroom
who knows the answer, because the person
in question is yourself, and on that
you are the greatest living authority,
but you don’t raise your hand.
You raise the top of your desk
and take out an apple.
You look out the window.
You don’t raise your hand and there is
some essential beauty in your fingers,
which aren’t even drumming, but lie
flat and peaceful.
The teacher repeats the question.
Outside the window, on an overhanging branch,
a robin is ruffling its feathers
and spring is in the air.
amazing
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Thanks Beth. 🙂
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Beautiful photo dear Maverick, there’s a meeting in the school all day. 🙂
❤ ❤
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Zamanlama o halde mükemmel. 🙂
❤ ❤
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Senin zamanlaman her zaman harika 😉
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Güzelsin 🌹
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Lovely post, Maverick. Beautiful poem, I never raised my hand either.
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Thanks Jet, you and me both. 🙂
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Hmm.. I guess this one too tough for me to crack. Care for an explanation?
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Megha, if you ever daydreamed in class, it’s like that. 🙂
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oh…thats’s why I didnt get it. Thanks Maverick. Now that whole thing made sense.
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Intriguing …. thoughts of myself as a child in a classroom where I knew the answer yet gazed out the window instead … Great post, Maverick! 👏🏼
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Thanks Amy, I share those memories. 🙂
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Oh! This is beautiful and sweet. I adore it!
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Thank you dear Holly. 🙂
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😊
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Beautiful! 🙂 A glimpse of my youth!
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Thanks, I think most of us have been there. 🙂
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So beautiful
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Thank you. 🙂
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