The teacher watches
the girl in the back of the room,
the only one in English class
who does not speak English

The teacher asks
a brown-eyed boy
who is tall and has a soft voice,
who is kind and quiet
to translate the assignment

the only girl in the room
who is pregnant
and who thinks
no one knows

The girl has hair that is brown
but she wants it to be red,
and the hair dye
makes it look like a copper penny

The girl has a soft smile
with one crooked tooth
that makes her innocence shine
and the teacher wants to cry

The girl falls asleep in the back of the room
but when the teacher calls her name
she sits up straight
and smiles a smile that is true
that is without spite

The girl does not know
that she is beautiful
that she would be beautiful
even without the boy
that walks her down the hall,
the boy in the black jacket
and the slicked-back hair,
the boy whose hand she holds
so very tightly
every day

The teacher thanks the kind boy
who translates the material
for the copper-haired girl
who said she understood the assignment
before she starts to fall asleep again

Roll Call

Isela
Sulema
Mario

The one that sleeps
in the back of the class
eyes so red and tired
Baby brothers and sisters to care for
Cleaning house into the night,
yet she never misses an assignment

Isis
Ivan
Pablo
Edgar
Sofia

The one that says,
I can't do this, Miss;
I'm gonna fail this test -
it doesn't matter what I write . . .
The one that knows the name
of every weapon by sight
but has trouble with adverbs . . .

Maria
Kassandra
Lizette
Juan
Jose

The one who walks in
Every day
with a big smile,
who wants a hug,
who wants to talk and laugh
for the entire hour

Abelardo
Alejandra
Pablo
Selena

The one who creates
heartbreak and drama,
Because if she can pretend,
Then perhaps the personal hell
That waits for her each day
after the school bell has rung . . .
Maybe it won't seem so large,
So real.

Isidro
Lorena
Carlos

If I could
I would write it
In bright red paint
On the tallest shining building
In the middle of Houston,
that building we saw
when we were riding the train . . .

I would paint it in red
For you to see
I would take you there
Every single day
So you would know
And so everyone would know

People walking on the street
Would see it
and would see us
And would know
That the words were mine,
And that they were for you.
I would be brave
And look straight back at them
While they looked their judgement
at me -

I would do this for you
If I could.

Every day
We would go and look
And come back home.
We will have feelings
That we can't explain,
We can't put in an envelope
and send away,
We will not be able to
gobble up and forget -
Because we both saw
The huge red letters
On the sides of the building,
Shining the gigantic city
Right into our faces.

At home,
Speaking low,
Remembering the letters -
what they said -
It will be
Iron on string
In the middle of our stomachs
For many, many days.

After awhile
We will just stop going back
Because the letters will fade
The rain and the wind and the sun
Will take them away
Perhaps there will even be a day -
Long from now
When we go back into that city,
That we will ride the train
Right by that mirror building -
And the letters will be gone.

Perhaps you won't even notice the building
Glittering to the right
As the train glides past . . .
You will smile straight ahead,
But I will shut my eyes
So tight . . .

And in a very long time
The building will be too old
So they will tear it down,
Something better will take its place . . .

Then, under a Christmas tree,
years and years from now,
All in our circle,
Shining faces, colors, lights, paper,
We will remember
trips to the beach
nights we played games
watched movies, slept in the living room
with popcorn scattered to pick up in the morning
And one will say -

"Didn't you paint something in red
A very long time ago . . .
I just hardly remember."

I hope so.

Four

From their mouths,
my praise
and in their hands,
my world . . .

I do not deserve it.

Fingerprints on windows
Crayon etchings on the walls
Chubby hands around my neck
Sloppy, happy kisses
after eating ice cream . . .

The oldest one
with golden hair
and a serious face,
she loves to pat my hand,
my arm,
look at my face
with uncertain eyes
and smile a smile
that asks a question

The little girl
with golden hair
and big, happy eyes
loves to make me pictures,
five pictures a day,
and ask me if I like them
and tell me what she drew,
who the people are . . .
and tack the scrawly, rainbow sheets
to my bedroom door

The stocky little boy
Three years old
Full of hugs
and bounce and tackle,
"Watch me, Mamma!
Look at the truck!
It lost its wheel! OH!"
Full of laughing
and kisses
and, "You're my best friend!"
His presence about the house
Hangs in the air
Like a thousand exclamation points.

The baby,
Chubby, drooling, smiling,
Nibbling, making faces,
grabbing my earrings,
leaning in for kisses,
snuggling to sleep,
my little man
whispy, fuzzy blonde hair
that is good to nuzzle
while he gazes up
with trusting blue eyes;
He feels so safe.

Four lined up
My ducks in their row
My world in their hands
I wish I deserved them,
And work to give them
What they deserve.

Caffeine

Venti with a double shot
It keeps the shakes away
for today

Bittersweet flavor,
husky and full
warm going down,
it gives my mouth
something to do
and my brain
something to think

At work a little early
No one is here
Papers to grade
Grades to record
Parents to tell . . .

Early
and there's time
Time -
to get the work done,
and to remember again -
it's quiet,
and I am lonely

That double shot will kick in
Give it a minute

It is quiet

Drink the coffee slowly

Barren

There must be a place
Where trees have never grown
Nothing to cut down
No scars left behind

A clear field
Never meant for anything else
A clear path
Nothing else to navigate
Nothing to make you trip
No way you could fall down

It must be someplace -
Green and untouched
Flowers there
Tall grass
Peaceful
You can watch the sunset
You can breathe easy,
breathe deep;
You can close your eyes
and smile.

A place
Never meant to sustain trees
Never meant to have things
that could be taken away
Just a place
All its own
No fear of loss or scars
Just green and blue and yellow
and free

I want to see it.

Changes

I'm wondering
what you'd find
if you came by -
would you be
too surprised?

I wonder if my questions
would bother you
or if you'd have the answers
or if you'd try to answer,
even if you didn't know

I wonder after we talked for awhile,
just a little while
over a cup of coffee
or whatever you'd like,
what would you think
about the things I say?

I wonder if you would be patient
and love me anyway
not for what I used to be
or what you wish that I still was
but for this in-transition me,
the one who doesn't know
who I will be later

And I wonder if you will like
the later me

I want to keep all that we've shared -
you are so important;
if you came by, I would tell you that
and that I cannot stop
what I could not keep from starting.

Come by today
or tomorrow
Come next week
I will still be here
and I will need you
and treasure you
and hope that after our visit
you will come back again