In 5th grade I cheated in a spelling bee,
the final word – equator – visible
on the blow-up globe hanging from
the ceiling. It’s a small story,
the dollar-bin stuff of life
that years later, still clutters.
We were sitting at a cafe drinking
coffee, the tables pressed close
together. You leaned across
and in a sure, even voice, substituted
the o with an e. Sometimes sorrow
sharpens itself against stone,
sometimes against light.
That’s right, I answered,
leaning my chair against the wall.