Shining is not a crime
End of term. The hallway smells of marker and photocopies; on the bulletin board, many starred notes. She walks noiselessly
I’m not “aspirine”
Afternoons two weeks in a row become long. The bedroom door is closed and the pillow gets wetter and wetter. In high school
The mirror of the playground
It’s recess in elementary school. The rubber floor burns in the sun and the fountain drips out of rhythm. In the bathroom window
On the skin forever
At the change of class, I looked at myself in the bathroom mirror under the white light. The hallway smelled of cologne and wet paper
Twice brave
It was the change of classes at the high school. Lockers opened and closed like accordions
Candy at the entrance
It was a gray morning outside the high school. The kiosk smelled of licorice and cold coins
Home Schooling
It was a bright morning. On the kitchen table, notebooks lay open next to a mug that was still steaming. The pace of study was set
Rumor on the bus
It was a cold morning. The bus was rattling and fogging up the windows; the seats were shaking as it passed through the traffic circle