THE TEST

This is the moment.

Four months shy
of the end of the year
after months of demonstrating
practicing
analyzing
rewriting
squishing every state standard
into a palatable pill
we can swallow

it all comes down to this week

This is our judgment,
both student and teacher,
This is where they must pass
to move on a grade
This is my public record
a school's badge of honor--
or shame.

THE TEST will not forgive
your headache
a grandfather's funeral
the welt on your back
that wouldn't let you concentrate
or your anxious butterfly-hands
as you shade
bubble-after-bubble-after-bubble

It doesn't give extra credit
for perseverance
or that your reading has improved
by two grade levels--
if you're not at grade level
yet

As we head into battle every morning
I tell my class how smart they are--
they have everything they need
in their brains.
I bring in granola bars
and juice boxes
for sustenance,
we sing songs and dance,
our spirits soaring.

Then I pass out sharp pencils
study their creased faces
rub their backs when they seem overwhelmed

It all falls on this moment.

May we come out
standing.