What I Don’t Know
I did not learn
To "Enunciate!" that year,
Standing at my desk,
Trying not to "mumble or stutter."
As it happens, humiliation
Today, I could recite Blake, Poe, or Eliot
For a room full of Mrs. Gonsers,
But I'm still not sure who I'd be
Without a blush crawling up my neck.
If I leave the paint to dry,
It will dry,
But if I leave myself to be,
What will be?