Mr. Durke pulled me aside after class and said, “Juliet, the more you chase something, the further it becomes.” Then he asked me to try harder on my work.

The entire time he was talking, I was imagining myself running—running for hours after the sun until it finally vanished into the night. I’d stop until it came back, then continue to chase it. But no matter how fast I ran, it would always stay in the same spot. It wouldn’t slow down, wouldn’t go faster. It would just watch me—just watch.

The next day in class, I couldn’t pay attention. I stared out the window, my eyes searching for the sun, my brain rattled with thoughts. Why am I chasing it? When the bell rang, Mr. Durke pulled me aside again and sighed.

I told him I was trying my hardest but struggling to understand a few things. He asked me, “What? What are you trying to understand?”

I stayed quiet for a few minutes. He urged me to hurry up. I asked him, “Why am I chasing?”

I wouldn’t remember his answer when I went home. Instead, I wrote a poem about the sun. The next day, I pulled him aside after class and gave it to him. Mr. Durke is a poet. He’s accidentally an English teacher; I think he’s meant for more.

He read my poem and asked me what it meant. I asked him if he knew that scientists say the sun isn’t really yellow. It looks yellow because the sky looks blue. The blue part of the solar light is scattered by the atmosphere, bouncing around and coming to our eyes from different directions. The sun is white, but white isn’t really a color. Mostly, it’s green.

I told him that it’s really confusing and I couldn’t sleep last night trying to figure it out, which is why I wrote the poem. I thought he might like it because he’s a poet. He asked me again what it meant.

I walked home, imagining myself still chasing the sun, even though it’s not yellow. The next day, I told him it meant yellow is a paradox. He asked me how. I told him that the more I say the sun isn’t yellow, the yellower it becomes.

He said okay and that it’s a good poem, but he thinks I can do better. I just need to try harder.

-

_The sun deceives with every ray,_

_A truth it hides but won’t betray._

_We chase its light, but always miss,_

_Then leave it to the scientists._

_They claim to know, the learned few,_

_Yet still, its gaze feels far from true._

_It watches, silent in the sky,_

_And I still wonder—how, and why?_