All day, one room: me, and the cherubim . . .

All day, one room: me, and the cherubim

with their wet kisses. Without quarantines,

who knew what was happening at home—

was someone put to bed, had someone died?

The paper said how dangerous, they coughed

and snuffed in their double desks, facing me—

they sneezed and spit on books we passed around

and on the boots I tied, retied, barely

out of school myself, Price at the front—

they smeared their lunch, they had no handkerchiefs,

no fresh water to wash my hands—when the youngest

started to cry, flushed and scared,

I just couldn’t touch her, I let her cry.

Their teacher, and I let them cry.