The essay arrives
clean as a hotel room.
Every sentence
in its place,
pillows plumped
by unseen hands.

I read it twice.
The argument holds
the way a smile holds
when the mouth
has forgotten why.

She sits across from me,
picking at the edge
of her sleeve.
I ask her
what she meant
by the second paragraph.

She looks at the wall.

I wait.

The silence
is the truest thing
she’s written
all semester.