No Excuse

She sat in my classroom for one hundred and eighty days.
Front left side, third from the center aisle.
16 days absent, if truth be told.
Not much of a story here.
Flu, broken bones, all the usual ailments of a twelve year old.
If my students weren’t so easily distracted
from the topic of the lesson on that day,
I would have noticed her empty desk.

She entered the room quiet, so quiet, you may have not seen her
as she slipped by with her arms wrapped
around her books and she apologized
when she slid into her chair.
Crouched down with my face closer, I asked, “What was that?”
But there wasn’t another sound coming out
from under her shield of auburn bangs,
her exaggerated part falling against nature.

She moved her hair aside so one dark pupil could peek through.
I could see she had been crying
and in our glance we agreed
to leave the story there.
Students were asked to write about a happy memory.
The bell rang and her paper handed in
told the story of her older brother
ripping a clump of her hair.

In the jostling of books as she left, I could see it was non-fiction.
Her scalp showed a shining new bald spot
the size of a fifty-cent piece
but the story written there
went on to tell of how she felt safe in the walls of this room,
and since I was her teacher
could I write her an excuse
to stay away from home?

She sat in my classroom for one hundred and sixty-four days.

Gone to Seed

In 1960, Pete and Joe
wondered as they sang
when people would ever learn
where all the flowers had gone.

Gardens used to keep children
running under its sprinkler spray
and kicking the can and water balloons
filled cut grass with fun.

Laughter road the streets on bikes
with cards click-clicking spokes
and sticks banged out a tune
on the leaning picket fence.

Yet drive the street anytime today
and no one is outside
for children left the garden,
unattended, gone to weeds.

A long time since 1960,
you and I still wonder
where flowers in our garden go
when children live inside.