Author's Notes: I am placing the author's notes before this poem, because it's essential that you know some things before diving in.
Most importantly, the word "aloha" can mean a host of different things; three of which, those used in this poem, are "hello," "goodbye," and "love." My parents used to live in Hawaii, so there, don't contradict me, because I know what I'm talking about. The person I speak of throughout this poem used to say that word to me all the time--for what reason, I never knew, hence the wondering about it you'll find. Mind you, all of this is true. Every bit. I am the speaker in this poem.
Last, but not least, the reason this poem was formatted the way it was--with no rhythm, no rhyme, just whimsically--there is a reason behind it. This is the fact that it was written as it was meant to be said. Those little pauses in sentences and thoughts are expressed where the line is broken or joined. Sometimes, I'll admit, it just "looked right" to me, so I broke the line or joined it where I felt it necessary. So the method to my madness may or may not make any sense to you, and I apologize for that.
This took me at least two hours to write altogether, while listening to a Best of Beethoven CD (especially "Für Elise" =). I would appreciate any feedback that you might have, as long as it's polite, please--don't be too blunt about flaming. Words of improvement are welcome in these cases.

Anyway, thank you for reading, I truly appreciate your taking the time, and I hope you enjoy what I've written; it comes entirely from my heart.

~Mistress Jakira


Oh, every day I walk
into this ordinary classroom,
black tables,
plastic chairs,
a strange science teacher
whom no one likes
for one reason or another.
I wait.
I stare toward the halls,
through the doorway,
It seems to mean nothing,
for the place where I sit
faces the threshold
But my gaze
is continuous.

I wait for your entrance,
so casually grand;
I wait to see your smile,
to light up my world
and my eyes,
which I promptly attempt
to cover,
hoping you won't see
what's behind them. I turn them
down to my books,
so you can't catch me watching you
as you sit down beside me.
You speak to that blonde boy
sitting there across from you,
and this--
hearing your voice--
is enough
to make me as happy
as happy can possibly be. Sometimes, though,
sometimes you first greet me...
"Aloha" is the word
I hear you say, and I wonder
if you know that it means "love."

As class starts up, he
begins to talk;
that teacher I mentioned before, I mean.
He talks, but you don't listen.
You turn to the blonde once more,
despite that you sit at
the front of the room,
in plain sight of the teacher,
who ironically doesn't seem to care.
You speak of dirt bikes,
wrecks and engine power.
I know it's nothing I know
anything about, but somehow
I'm intrigued, and my attention
is torn away from the teacher.
I feel guilty for that, but it
doesn't faze me at all, and I watch
as your childlike antics,
though I think them endearing
and charming in the
strangest sort of way,
tire the elven boy who sometimes seems
to actually try to listen
to the teacher.

And so you turn to me;
my heart stops against its own will,
suddenly beating hard,
and at intervals
irregular, causing my breaths
to come less easily
than perhaps they should.
I know I should be
listening to the lesson,
but I can lend
only half my attention
to the ongoing lecture, and
we talk, sometimes
not at all. Sometimes, rather,
we write messages to one another
with our fingertips, on top of
the ordinary black table
we should theoretically be using
to take notes, do our work.

We can't let the teacher
hear our conversation, or,
at least,
he can't hear us
too loudly;
so we have to whisper
the words that we say...
I can't hear you very well, so
I lean closer.
You lean closer.
Before long we're staring
into each other's eyes,
and I hope the longing in my own
doesn't show.
Your lips,
so close to mine...
just the slightest of
a nervous jerk or
a shake of laughter could
send me forward...
I know what would happen then,
and I hope that it doesn't.

My eyes lock yours,
then shift up,
taking in every detail
of your face: from your skin,
so dark and rich and tanned,
to that one
whisker on your chin
that I never noticed
until just now.
I turn my blue eyes once more up
to meet yours, which bravely gaze
straight back into mine,
and in their friendly brown I feel
that I see your soul
for what it really is.
Through them it feels like
a claw is reaching, clutching my soul in its
tightening grasp, while seeming not
to constrict it. I consider whether
you're thinking the same, and while
logically it's ridiculous, it is both of us
who soon become speechless.
But as we turn away,
you feel that you must break
the silence;
"Aloha" is the word
I hear you say, and I wonder
if you know that it means "love."

We spend time together,
alone amidst this crowd,
somehow becoming oblivious
to the fact that anyone else is around,
at least to the point where we touch
and we talk,
small talk to pass the sweet time.
And oh, how it passes
so quickly! Just forty-
five minutes that rush by in the
time-space continuum,
just forty-five insignificant minutes
in which we learn so much,
and chemistry in
more ways than one.
Each time that you prod,
each time that you kick
my ankles from underneath
the ordinary black table
I feel the minutes
have slipped on by,
and I realize that
the bell will soon ring,
sending me to lunch, away
from the warmth of your
glowing presence.
So we pack our bags to leave,
our farewells short,
as we rush to where we
need to be,
and reluctantly I say
But you don't.
"Aloha" is the word
I hear you say, and I wonder
if you know that it means "love."