His world is constant interruption.
There are only random pieces of conversations,
His energy pulls him away from the task,
taking him to fast moving cars and knights in battle.
It hurts to know now how much he struggles.
The end of the playful all-accepting childhood nears.
In the classroom,
robbed of steering his own thought,
a woman tries to reach him.
She fights the neurons traveling various paths in his brain,
weaving the curriculum into powerful images
that might take a ride on his speedy, sporadic highway
hidden behind those chocolate brown eyes.
One connection after another builds a series in his neural net.
She creates a lesson with the intent to teach them how to wonder
in a world that hands them all image after image,
stripping them from the intellectual tools we call
A mysterious box appears on a table
in the back of the classroom.
The children begin to ask questions.
The artifacts in the box have peeked his interest.
What is in that box?
Clues are slowly revealed by the woman.
The knights disappear.
An image of an old fashioned ink pen
surfaces among the other images flooding into his visual web.
He has just enough time to get the shape of it down in a drawing
as the other students guess the contents of the box,
looking onto each other's papers,
feeling like someone near to them must know the answer
He jumps from his seat
unable to control his excitement.
He must share his discovery with her.
The woman bends down
eager to hear his idea.
On the paper he has drawn an old pen and a jar.
Chills travel up her arms
flush through her chest
down her legs and
His focus is entirely centered on the box.
He sits like stone,
waiting for her to unlatch the top and reveal its contents.
Her arm disappears into the deep space,
lifting yet another box, long, with black smudges.
She delivers it into the center of his table.
Eyes big, he waits.
The children are released, hungry for the treat
they have all had to wait for while everyone else got served.
As he slides of the top of the box, a cloth stained with black ink
meets his chocolate brown eyes.
The long black sticks are stacked on top
of one another with pointy metal tips blackened from ink.
He has guessed.
He has wondered
and he has won.
Or so he thinks.
But what he doesn't know is that
has won, too.