By Leisl Jaberg; written circa 1996, well before I was diagnosed with ADHD. I have edited this piece a tiny bit.
Interrupting Storm
As you site at your desk in school
trying to pay attention,
sunlight bounces off the leaves of the tree
next to the window.
It catches your eye.
You look away
from the teacher who is explaining
the state flower is the peony.
You think
I know what that flower is – they grow
all over the cemetery and attract bugs. How can peonies
really be the state flower?
Your tooth-dented pencil, you notice,
needs to be sharpened
They make me sneeze. What about snap
dragons – yeah – when they are pinched in the sides,
they kiss. I can make them talk, too.
Glancing at your ragged nails, you check to see
if they have grown in the last five minutes
so they can be bitten again
(it’s something to do)
Flower lovers kissing as only two
snap dragons can. I never see bees
flying around them,
only around peonies,
Your eyes flash back to the window,
songs from the morning school bus ride
replaying constantly in your head. Fighting
an urge to sign out, you look again.
Remember what your dad said,
and what his grandma told him:
When you can see the backs of the leaves,
a storm is about to come.
I wonder if peonies know
when it’s going to storm?
Staring at the tree
while back-turned leaves
jiggle with increasing rhythm,
your eyes wander.
It could be a big storm.
Are the snap dragons at home okay?
Do they know?
Dark clouds shadow the playground,
and you come crashing back
to the classroom. The teacher is pointing
at the state map calling your name.
You realize you do not know
what she has asked you.
What? you ask.
The teacher reminds you to pay
better attention, and repeats the questions.
Your answer is punctuated with thunder.
Rain pours down
drowning the sunlight.
Leisl Jaberg 