Perhaps not.
Here is a poem I wrote about three years ago, while watching a high school student preparing for a Social Studies test. So that I wouldn't distract her, I had moved from my usual place at the front of the class to a desk behind her. I was thus able to observe the positions of the neck and shoulder blade referred to in the poem, and I wrote the poem as she studied.
---------------------------------------------------
The shoulders’ stress, the angled
blade of bone,
the neck—these reflect the pain
that’s stencilled
clearly on her face. She bites her
pencil
and faces down the world’s whole past
alone.
The textbook takes a dessicating tone,
removing love and horror from the facts
that still
ring changes on the world and always
will,
beyond her knowledge till her world has
grown.
I wish that I could find another way
to stand her in some former time and
place
and see how blue the sky was on that
day,
how cold the sea that splashes on her
face,
how joyous dolphins, leaping from the
sea,
how joyless we, so far from delphin
grace.
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