where did she go?

In math I was the whiz kid, keeper
of oranges and apples. What you don’t understand,
master, my father said; the faster
I answered, the faster they came.

I could see one bud on the teacher’s geranium,
one clear bee sputtering at the wet pane.
The tulip tree always dragged after heavy rain
so I tucked my head as my boots slapped home.

My father put up his feet after work
and relaxed with a highball and The Life of Lincoln.
After supper we drilled and I climbed the dark

before sleep, before a thin voice hissed
numbers as I spun on a wheel. I had to guess.
Ten, I kept saying, I’m only ten.

-Rita Dove

What's with me and poetry lately? Oh, and I hereby resolve to stay awake in French and pay attention in chem lit. Goodness. Also, maybe I'm going to expand my ultimate career (of "Avatar:The Last Airbender" watching and blogging) to include science fair judging and doing chemistry magic shows. More on that later.