In my dream I am surrounded

by former students knocking

on my classroom door, all wanting

something that I failed to give

the first time around.  I am running

late, half dressed, wrapped in a towel, bare-

faced.  Some I dismiss, knowing

I can’t or don’t want

to help.  In another moment

I am with my daughter, traveling

somewhere.   Black men surround us, demanding

the car, a cigarette, money–

something I don’t want

to relinquish.  Emma is ready to give

everything up, and I am once more in charge

of her life.  Students gather watching

someone who promises to change

the trajectory of their lives, offering

something they know they will never have,

no matter how many times

they hear the story.  They are

restless, pushing and shoving, escalating

the hurts of their lives: a mother already gone,

splayed on the frayed graying couch, clutching

her purse, somewhere.  Soon the whole school is erupting

into something I cannot control.  I am left

watching, standing still,

empty-handed.