I Don’t Know What

In my dreaming mind’s eye
I am habitually
revising
my first college essay.
I got a D-
from Sister Helen,
a Benedictine,
a teaching-queen nun.
In this dream, every time,
I get the same markings
when she returns my paper:
“D-. Follow suggestions for revision.”
I am never going to get a better grade,
am I, Sister?
Her eyes,
trapped in time’s amber,
remind me of something Sysyphian.
Did I not follow her advice?
No more than my students followed mine?
This question
rolls about,
one marble in a metal Chinese Checkers case
singing a refrain,
“Perhaps,
perhaps,
perhaps.”