The Day Robin Williams Died


I had eaten both a donut and a cookie at work
in the teachers’ lounge

rolling pieces of toasted coconut between my teeth
working out a new seating arrangement in my head

and watching the printer, our boxy slave
spit out another jammed mutilated multiplication worksheet

the window was blue – entering the room to land on the table
covering it in a gauzy lace of solemnity 

I sat in the bathroom holding my elbows
in case they floated away

a piece of childhood returning to the ground