When I was younger,
I would love when teachers used chalk to make dotted lines on the blackboard,
I liked watching it smear into the surface,
I liked waiting for it to break,
and the particles that stayed on their hand,
like they had been digging inside a bag of white coal,
I liked daydreaming about that.
I liked waiting for those pieces to fall,
onto their black knitted sweater,
like teachers wear,
I liked when Mrs. Richmond would roll the chalk between her hands,
for the sound that it made against her wedding ring.
I would always wait for it.