This week’s poem is also math-related, but of course like all poems, it’s about so much more. Enjoy!
Trouble with Math in a One-Room Country School
Jane Kenyon
The others bent their heads and started in.
Confused, I asked my neighbor
to explain—a sturdy, bright-cheeked girl
who brought raw milk to school from her family’s
herd of Holsteins. Ann had a blue bookmark,
and on it Christ revealed his beating heart,
holding the flesh back with His wounded hand.
Ann understood division. . . .Miss Moran sprang from her monumental desk
and led me roughly through the class
without a word. My shame was radical
as she propelled me past the cloakroom
to the furnace closet, where only the boys
were put, only the older ones at that.
The door swung briskly shut.
Confused, I asked my neighbor
to explain—a sturdy, bright-cheeked girl
who brought raw milk to school from her family’s
herd of Holsteins. Ann had a blue bookmark,
and on it Christ revealed his beating heart,
holding the flesh back with His wounded hand.
Ann understood division. . . .Miss Moran sprang from her monumental desk
and led me roughly through the class
without a word. My shame was radical
as she propelled me past the cloakroom
to the furnace closet, where only the boys
were put, only the older ones at that.
The door swung briskly shut.
The warmth, the gloom, the smell
of sweeping compound clinging to the broom
soothed me. I found a bucket, turned it
upside down, and sat, hugging my knees.
I hummed a theme from Haydn that I knew
from my piano lessons. . . .
and hardened my heart against authority.
And then I heard her steps, her fingers
on the latch. She led me, blinking
and changed, back to the class.
I love the details in this poem — three character sketches and so quickly! I’m in awe over “My shame was radical” and the play on math lingo in that phrase.
Powerful poem – thanks for sharing. That “innocence to experience” journey aptly painted.
Wow! That poem is about so much more, isn’t it? Thanks so much for sharing it today.
This seems like a very intense poem – I like how poetry is able to capture all these emotions and fence them in thru verse. 🙂
I love Kenyon. This poem makes me sad, though. And reminds me that hardened hearts aren’t alwAys a bad thing!
Those last few lines…what a reminder of the power of teachers and all of us grown-ups. Thank goodness for music and art for keeping us human in the face of injustice. A.
Jane Kenyon is one of my favorites. Thanks for this — a new poem to me.