I wonder if it sat therelike a block of ice in the desert,
being worn away, melted away, eaten away by the heat of objectivity.
I wonder if it pranced among the multiple choice questions
open response questions, standardizations, and judgement,
like a cafeinatted seven year old misplaced at a Baptist Pastor’s Convention.
I wonder if it was mutual,
the sense of renewal:
this is not the sort-of dialogue
that one can have with a poem.
So I’ll never know
what it was like
to be the poem Throwing a Tree
stranded, stuck, waiting, rejoicing?
as it was
in the 2004 6th grade Massachusetts Comprehensive Assessment.