The Tree

I am sketching
With pen and ink
In my 9th-grade art
Class in Junior H.S.,
I am drawing a tree
From my doodle of a
Tree trunk as my
Art teacher seats a
New student facing me
As our tables are adjacent.
She seems both beautiful
And strangely damaged
Both at once and looks
Far too old to be in a
9th-grade class of kids.
She has blond hair and
A young woman’s body
And she avoids eye contact
Though she has symmetry.
Though someone has hurt her
Beyond repair as the days pass she looks at me and I smile and she shyly returns my grin and we talk.
I am allowed to work on my tree sketch but the class must pencil
Draw some small object,
She pulls from the large box of
Of models a toy wiener dog,
Returns to her seat and tries
To put it in a sitting position
To draw but the tail sticks
Out in front between the
Dogs legs most unseemly.
She looks at me and
Softly laughs a
Terrible hollow laugh,
She holds my gaze and
I understand at once.
I reach across and hide
The tail for her so
She can draw the dog.
Afterwards she avoids
My gaze and a few
Days later is gone.
I grieve for her
Lost innocence
And mine,
She revealed
Herself to me,
But I was too
Young to
Help.