Sin Fronteras Spring 2018 Sin Fronteras 2018 | Page 66

4’3”
It was only a few days after I found
A couple of gray hairs peeking out
That she decided to break the news.
It was early in the morning,
We were on our way to school.
She was fidgeting in her seat,
And she limited her conversation
To monosyllabic words and a few grunts.
We were approaching the school’s door
When she abruptly stopped,
Pulling me towards her,
“What’s wrong?” I asked her.
And she fidgeted some more.
Swaying from left to right,
And biting her lip.
“You can leave now,”
She said,
“I don’t need you to take me
All the way to my classroom.”
I cannot remember
How the sky looked that morning
When we stepped out of the house,
But I do remember how it looked
As I walked back to my car,
Having left her at the door
Instead of her classroom:
Strong, raucous thunder
Howled across solemn skies.
At first I thought it looked angry,
But then I realized
It was just sad.
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