“The dead come back to life so unexpectedly.”

–Jane Yolen

 

For three years I’ve taught a boy like you–

Golden hair and blue eyes–

He even shuffles his feet while strolling the halls, ducking into the room

Just as the tardy bell rings.

His smile isn’t perfect yet either.

Another year in braces.

I’ve often rounded corners and run into Him

With your name upon my lips.

He favors black button-down henleys like you did.

It is Valentine’s Day and the halls are filled with flowers,

The scent still sweet from freshly-cut blossoms.

You once gave me a blue carnation

To remind me of your eyes,

How was it that I never understood what blue felt like

Until you touched me with your eyes?

And it took your fingers to describe a sky

To my skin.

It took your tears to let me feel rain

For the first time.

I had spent years beneath the sun’s halo

And never touched gold until

My fingers whispered through your hair.

A student coughs.

I blink and look at Him sitting at his desk,

The Him that I rename….

He is drawing anime figures.

A single rose lies across his desk,

Perhaps a gift from his girlfriend.

You taught me crimson, too–

A triumph Spitfire turned upside down,

Crushing the passenger seat where you’d been

Before the first of many somersaults.

You landed in a field of  wild flowers

And kissed them with blood.

You must have looked pale against the brown earth.



Brown–I remember the smooth lacquered feel

Of your coffin as I touched it rolling past.

Black draped my skin, smothering me.

Grey clouds clung over head, threatening rain.

Green grass waved in colorless breeze at the cemetery.

Pink roses dropped into your grave.

You gave me the rainbow,

But my eyes were numb.

You alone must have known the secret

As you slept in earth

Where flowers first formed their rainbow dreams.

I stood with salted water blinding me.

Everything blurred  until all

Shades became one huge smudge.

The bell rings and He scoots from behind his desk,

Disappearing amid all the other kids.

He leaves that solitary rose on his desk

And I stare at the scarlet cradled amid white

Memories of baby’s breath.

The emerald stem is dulled of thorns

And a golden ribbon ties a small pink card to the stem.

Cursive letters on the card say,

“I love you.”



(c) 2009 Maria Hooley.  All rights reserved.