Sophomore Year
Sophomore year,
a girl in my dorm, my hall,
my friend was shot.
she died in a park, on a date.
I had helped her pick the dress.
someone else changed her for the funeral.
her date died too.
both their wallets made it, though; found on the ground a few blocks away. they were empty.
so was her cafeteria seat;
her voice in conversation;
Empty.
we all missed that voice.
she could sing.
she would have been famous
and her death would have appeared in the newspapers if she had been.
But she wasn’t there yet,
so it didn’t.
they tried to fill the emptiness with food;
well meant baked goods pouring from every direction; Cookies, cupcakes, casseroles, all the classic comfort foods. I understood the idea;
the old Southern belief
that a heavy stomach makes for a lighter heart.
but I guess that my heart was stronger than my stomach then, because I couldn’t seem to eat any of it.
their comforts made me sick.
her best friend hung around with me a lot that year.
she told me everyone else was acting too weird.
I knew what she meant,
even if I didn’t understand what it was that I meant by knowing it. and I thought to myself,
maybe the comforts make her sick, too.