I liked the way
Yochana's fingers
pretended to play piano
on the top
of the school desk

nimble
thin

Miss G
greying hair
in a bun
eyeing the class
as the Chopin
piano piece
floated
from the record player
on the teacher's desk

the class was silent
no one talked
or smirked

I followed
Youchana's fingers move
swallowed
the dryness
in my throat

studied how
her elbows
gracefully flowed
in and out
in artificial play

if she'd been
a liquid
I would have
drank her in
to quench
my thirst for her

the outline
of her narrow frame
the curve scant
but there
of her hips
and the long
dark flowing hair.