Poetry By Cherry Cheesman

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The Tutor Goes Down On (Instead of Over) The Lesson Plans


​Then / one / day / it / just / happens / for no / reason / at all / he rolls up either end / of the
distance / like a sausage casing / strong eyes / grazing steadily / at her / all over / from across /
the heavy / desk table / and then not / the blue edges / of her / lucent fingertips / a field / a sun / a
stem / of milkweed / something / the sea has touched / but not / the sea itself / and yes Georgie /
is aware / that people / with good futures / do not / blow / their tutees / she has seen / the hole / a
man’s hands / burn into / a woman’s life / she has / woken up from / bad dreams / with the side of
her head / smashed open / the gaping hole in her head / shaped just like / the corner of / her
mother / ‘s china cabinet / the hardwood floor / melting into / a red / shag / rug / but in her / own
/ house / Georgie / is a sallow mass / of rolled-out chicken wire / and look / here / her coils are /
put to / good use / here / the sweet-chested / call of the sunrise-blue / steel / can be heard / from
every side / of every fence / from end to / placeless end / every / unrecog / nizable / landmark /
flush with / the heat of / a tempered / color / so bright / the color is gone / the sunrise turns / from
blue to red / and yet the sun / does not / change color / at all / and although / Georgie walks home
/ in the single-note / post-sunset / she could not / tell you / the definition / of a single thing / it
takes / seventeen blocks / for her to walk past / the busted sideview / of a merlot-colored sedan /
​and realize / he did in fact / leave something on her face.

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​Cherry Cheesman is a writer from the Carolinas. Her work is published or forthcoming in Sky Island Journal, Beaver Magazine, and Up the Staircase Quarterly. She is a current undergraduate at Sarah Lawrence College.