true love

you didn't mind,
as a kid, banging
erasers
against the back
wall of the school.
inhaling the toxic
white dust into
your fresh pink lungs.
it wasn't punishment
at all. in fact, you
frequently offered your
services to miss Copeland
the sixth
grade teacher.
you would have done
anything for
her. you would have
laid down your
twelve year old
life for her, taking
a bullet in her
path, pushing
her safely off
the tracks
as a train sped by.
she was probably
the most beautiful
woman on the planet
at the time.
you thought of her
as an angel
dropped out of
the sky and into
your classroom. she
smelled like
a flower and had skin
so pale, you wondered
of it had ever been
touched by sunlight.
her eyes were green
like the glass of
a 7 up bottle.
sometimes you would
use an entire sheet
of construction paper
writing her
name attached to
yours, as it would be
one day when you got
married. on Fridays,
as a treat, she'd read
to the class, from
one of her favorite
authors, madeline l'engle,
dimming the lights,
and waiting for us
to settle down.
you'd place your head
on your folded arms
and sighed, listening
to her sweet voice,
wondering, wondering
if she'd wait for you
to grow up.