Detachment

I had a Buddhist lesson my first year
in school. As punishment for a small infraction
the teacher made me move my desk to the rear
corner, miscalculating my reaction.
After a while, a friend of mine asked her when
I’d be allowed to move it back again.
“When she asks me herself,” came the reply
and I resolved, I’d sooner rather die.
And so—detached—I kept to my corner chair.
I sat, and I sat alone, until at length
I learned to turn my weakness into strength
and I grew at peace with the lone and the quiet there.
My teacher’s gifts are easily discerned:
she taught me lessons she had never learned.