It’s Always Today
Dennis Doherty
Today it was the first day
of class—bad weather, an ice
delay. I was a little late and
discombobulated in an unusual
building lately reconfigured,
looking for a stairway up.
Found one at the end of a
long hallway and began
to climb. Above on the first
landing I spied a pair of shoes
near the steps. As I rose
I saw a small colorful rug
next to the shoes. Near the top
I saw a young man in the corner
who had been obscured by the
stairs. His hands were together
and he was bending toward
the wall, northeast, praying beyond
the wall, beyond Mecca, even.
And then I found my classroom,
and there I found my students.