Recess, Science, Social
Studies
Lindsay Daigle
I like to play pitcher for kickball in the gym.
I roll the ball at the boys harder than at the girls,
more spin, bigger wind-up. After recess, there’s
a line at the bubbler. All the boys have soaked polo shirts
from sticking their faces directly in the stream of water.
No one ever drinks from the middle spout. Some weird
4th grade kid always puts his mouth on the middle spout.
Us 3rd graders get to learn about germs in science class.
Now we’re learning about the solar system. There’s a way
to remember the planets in order. I repeat the device
in the hallway from the bubbler to the classroom:
My Very Educated Mother Just Served Us Nine Pizzas.
A boy in my class interrupts my chant, pulls the skirt of my
jumper, pins me against the wall, kisses me on the lips. I learn
what that feels like. I learn what it’s like to shove a boy off
you and right-hook him in the jaw, to feel his sweat, to panic.
I hear gasps, laughter, the rest of the jaws hitting the floor. They
are pointing at him. My very educated mother taught me
to do what I love. I only wanted to be the pitcher for kickball
that day. I only wanted to put on my winter boots for the way
home after school. I only wanted to remember that Jupiter
is further from the sun than Mars, even further than Earth,
especially from where I am standing.
Lindsay Daigle
I like to play pitcher for kickball in the gym.
I roll the ball at the boys harder than at the girls,
more spin, bigger wind-up. After recess, there’s
a line at the bubbler. All the boys have soaked polo shirts
from sticking their faces directly in the stream of water.
No one ever drinks from the middle spout. Some weird
4th grade kid always puts his mouth on the middle spout.
Us 3rd graders get to learn about germs in science class.
Now we’re learning about the solar system. There’s a way
to remember the planets in order. I repeat the device
in the hallway from the bubbler to the classroom:
My Very Educated Mother Just Served Us Nine Pizzas.
A boy in my class interrupts my chant, pulls the skirt of my
jumper, pins me against the wall, kisses me on the lips. I learn
what that feels like. I learn what it’s like to shove a boy off
you and right-hook him in the jaw, to feel his sweat, to panic.
I hear gasps, laughter, the rest of the jaws hitting the floor. They
are pointing at him. My very educated mother taught me
to do what I love. I only wanted to be the pitcher for kickball
that day. I only wanted to put on my winter boots for the way
home after school. I only wanted to remember that Jupiter
is further from the sun than Mars, even further than Earth,
especially from where I am standing.
