Kieleha Ingram
As sure as the changing of seasons,
summer breaks always come to an end.
The ringing of class bells echoed in the halls,
accompanied by sounds of locker slams.
The smell of dry erase markers swirling about.
Sleep dust trapped in the corners of my eyes.
My nine-year-old self listening.
Vacation stories filled the school.
Children titter with glee at all the ventures they shared.
Me; praying and wishing I can fade.
Fade into the blackness of the dirt,
pushed into the crevasse of my pencil package.
Sitting in the back of class, avoiding the gawking gazes.
My hands wet with worry and my heart pounding.
I had to admit that I had been abandoned.
Left like a house burnt to a crisp.
Born to a woman who played people
like pawns in chess.
Wrote checks in names to whom she never knew.
Injecting meth between her toes.
Her desire to be high and play with rich men,
left me as baggage.
I could no longer contend.
The man who shares my DNA, whom I cannot remember his
face.
He spent his days in a prison cell for dealing drugs.
Panicked that my playmates would also forsake me.
Their parents who have read about my father’s misdeeds,
wondering to myself if they will recognize me.
Insecurities festering like a pimple to pop.
Realizing that there was no one to comfort me.
Like a bird fallen from a tree.
As children enjoyed the early sun
and the warm water of pools.
Watching cars speed and bicycles scrape the curbs.
Mothers walking their children in the suburbs.
When the school year began
my hope of her return was as buried as the mole in the
yard.
I sat in class with a worried grin, but alas I was saved.
The teacher smiled and began the lesson.
This will be the summer I never share.