I once had a Maths teacher
As like all, I too had sat in a classroom
and taught to doodle in digits
She had a searing look and cheekbones that cut across her face
All tall and strong boned
Always in a batik cheongsam
Which outlined her flat body
And it bent low with her
As she scratched her calves
Her hands are as swift as the questions
She throws at us
Especially at me,
That made numbers and digits spin around
And the heavy pull of my twin braids
Ahhhh!!! Ouch! Ooh!!! How it hurts
‘What’s the decimal point’, she would shout
It was a sharp shrill
Everywhere else was silence
Except for my answer
Which was always wrong
And the next thing the duster
Would come flying at my head.
The pain will sting me as fire on a raw flesh
But when I saw her lying in the coffin
Her bones lay colourless
I could still hear her call out my name
Just that it was much soother
Everything about her was so angelic
Like a cherubim she defied all
The pain she once caused me…..
Buried together with the body
But never from my memories

Cover image by Annie Spratt on Unsplash