The classroom is cold
Good thing I brought a sweater, I think
as I take notes frantically
because bad grades won’t
get me to college
get me a job
get me a life.
I picture my pencil smoking
from all the overwork,
the way it would if I were
on some sitcom.
I picture what it will be like
to hear the 2:15 bell ring and
know that I am free
for the time being, anyway.
I picture you at college,
great big campus,
little tiny dorm room.
My teacher talks of homeostasis
enough to fill a notebook to the brim
with notes, but
my pencil stops moving.
I miss you, boy,
more than I expected I would.
Each day I pray that you
will call or write, and
when I do hear your voice
or see your familiar handwriting
I am again alive
the way I was before you left.
I never thought I’d be so lost,
not knowing what to do with myself,
who to call at night,
who to make weekend plans with.
I miss your shy eyes and
constant blush
the way someone misses shelter
when caught in a storm.
The classroom is colder now and
I pull my sweater tightly around me.
My lab partner is looking at me,
touching my arm, trying to
understand
but I know she can’t feel what
I feel.
The one she loves
sits with her every day
at lunch.
The one she loves
loves her back.