Sixth Grade

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When my friend’s father died
When we were eleven,
I felt sad for him, I could never tell him how.
Three times, years later, I tried to speak,
But, what I felt, I guess, doesn’t matter now.

He wore a dirty pullover with college stripes,
Blue and maroon around the V-shaped neck.
Life was complicated with your
Breadwinner dismissed.
Perhaps, more complicated than the first time I kissed.

A week later, you were back at the desk,
As if nothing had passed
You returned to some book you had.
I watched you reading, perhaps I sighed at the
Thought of a life without your dad.

The vision is hazy afterwards: I don’t
Remember what passed. Did I tell you something:
Something stupid you tell at loss?
Most probably I didn’t. Perhaps, “So, hi” is what I said
Hands in pockets in the sixth Grade.



One thought on “Sixth Grade

    ruwan jayakody said:
    September 4, 2010 at 7:29 am

    hey man, really really liked this one (your best thus far – for me that is) – guess it’s not overtly political like some of the others and has an intensely personal a la confessional bent to it – will send some of my recent work your way soon for a scathing critique

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