– 45 –

ii

I step from my robe
onto the platform.
The teacher swivels lights
and talks about tonality.

As the room heats
a bead of sweat runs slowly
from an armpit down my bare breast,
a distracting tickle.

I focus on faces—
an older man with square glasses,
a slim woman with shapely lips.

At the break I walk the line
of drawings—my eyes stare back
with ten different expressions.

I accuse myself, I am wistful;
in one sketch
the emotion is elusive.