The Lesson. +3 more, by Vasiliki Albedo
t’s an August evening in the garden
and I’m reading about nyctinasty,
why some flowers close their petals
for the night, when the lantern I nailed
in place this afternoon starts to
tremble in an irreverent breeze, and I remember
years ago, waiting for the bus to
school, when a rusty nail jutting out of a discarded plank, caught my eye.
I don’t know what impelled me then
to stab my foot on it, hard as I could.