In Class  

The professor gestures 

toward the composition. “Note 

the course of the river, 

and the place 

where it diverges, by the royal 

procession, the orchestra flaunting 

its many instruments.” 

The professor adjusts her posture, 

“See the child, the young 

boy in the rear dressed 

in feathers?” A few students scratch 

earnestly at their papers. 

“What is the object 

of the feathered boy’s envy?” 

The class is silent, looking 

into their laps, someone reaches 

for a bag behind a chair. 

“The harpist,” a student says,

“The sentry,” said another. 

The professor pouts, 

shakes her head. Then, 

 a voice from the back of the room, 

“the instruments,” the voice said, 

“the feathered boy envies 

the instruments as they witness 

such processes and are transported 

home like precious glass.” 

“No,” the professor says, 

turning. “The feathered 

boy envies the king because 

the king is wealthy, knows 

women, and wears fine silks 

instead of dead birds.” 

Some nods, more scratches 

on paper. The professor projects

the next slide, a detail of the former 

image. “Now, who can tell me 

about the light on the water?”