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.