I click the microphone so the umpteenth student can once again tell the world the essence of Margaret Atwood’s “Spelling” for her taped IB Oral Commentary.
I want to listen, but it seems so unfocused compared to the poet’s own words which are so precise and ordered. I must pay attention. She is trying so valiantly.
I am distracted by a finch outside the window that darts in and out of my line of vision trying to land in some unseen nest hidden under the eaves. I want to help it, but I don’t have wings.
This, too, is a metaphor.
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