The length of a chord parallel to a tangent says nothing
about the circle that contains it but this:
it’s no less wide. You’d learn that much with string.
At childhood’s geometer’s beck, the girl makes a fist,
gripping to mark neat checks in black-rimmed squares.
The girl exacts her work — left hand puts point down
one-third up left edge, down right to one-third over, there
turns, to cross to upper right. She looks up to see him frown.
He smiles and taps his teeth. She marks another check.
She sees he wants to leave; she smiles to keep him near
and marks a check. He leans in close; she marks a check.
He stares; she checks and, fearing, feels his fear.
Test done, he smiles, and leads her to the door.
She pushes hard, to lift the latch, and bursts out from her school.
David Milley
