-itis

I wrote this poem
While my students worked and I
Stared through the window

The cool wind blowing
A soft Mississippi breeze
Through the Cypress trees

As old as the school
And all the houses nearby
Or perhaps older

Small silver raindrops
Chased each other down the glass
Eyes to the outside

Passed the frozen face
Of Langston, W.E.B. and
Other black poets

And easter eggs with
Haiku embryos inside
The first up, still wet

Skill or ambition?
The rest deliberated
On lines or circles

Counting syllables
On their fingers. Is pink cool?
How much time 'til lunch?

Or simply sat still
Pencils filled with latency
Eyes out the window

Fogetting their eggs
While dreaming of Cypress trees
Blowing in the wind


* * *

... that was fifth period. as i looked around the web for cheap deals on paperback books (purchasing a class set of The Alchemist since the school won't and the kids can't) during my break later, "San" appeared in my door. San is the only student of asian descent at our school of over 1,000. San does not talk. Ever. At least, not to my knowledge. In the mornings, I pass him on the side of the road. Sometimes he is walking towards the school, often he is standing or pacing - as if he is waiting, seemingly unsure whether to continue on, go back, or just stay put. Always alone. I've stopped to offer a ride several times, and only once he took me up on it. Still, no words. Though I pried and tried. San was on the soccer team, but rarely, if ever, played soccer. He either haphazardly kicked at the ball if it got close enough or ignored it completely, and occasionally ran, awkwardly, but without apparent logic when others were running. Or weren't. He has a skin disease that makes him itch. And when he itches his arms, neck or face, he digs at himself like a dog scratching for fleas. Passionately and suddenly. I haven't witnessed any peer interactions. I wonder who he sits with at lunch ... if he talks to them ... if he ever smiles or laughs. I don't teach San, he is a freshman, but every so often he comes into my room, appearing suddenly in my door between periods like a disheveled phantom as he did today.

"Hey, San. What's up? Come on in."

"Going to do anything now that soccer is over? You could join drama club, we're always looking for more members. Tuesdays and Thursdays we meet."

Normally, there is a pause for several seconds then he will turn, though never deliberately, to leave as if he didn't hear you at all, or got suddenly nervous/terribly afraid. Only he never seems nervous or afraid. He is Bartleby. Today, however, he came in further, said "Hello, Mr. Doyle", and bent over as if he was wretching silently. Sort of a slow, controlled seizure or a poorly-feigned vomit. I barely swallowed the greeting before getting up to see if he was ok. Then he was up and gone. Drama? Illness?

Anyone I've asked about him, students or teachers, say he is just really weird; "wacked-out", in fact. Where does that sort of silence come from?