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I remember climbing the stairs

after school, the staccato crunch

of your typewriter keys,

the clicking steno tape, sotto voce

murmurings of the stenographer.

I think how my bursting

through your office door would have

jolted you out of your hard-won groove,

your prized sense of vanquished chaos.

I wonder if your knowing

that I was on my way brought up

dread for you, if my return

was the worst part of your work

day. I know that, in any case,

it was hard for you when I burst

in, cookie in hand, no homework,

free for the afternoon. I think you

wished so hard for some freedom

for yourself that you resented

my childish autonomy. I saw you

glance my way, then turn back

to your task, a disappointment

washing over your face -- over me

or over your lot, I don't know.