two water fountains
we needed stools to reach
four closed classroom doors
with barking teachers on the other side
sometimes
one bad child who was sent
to take a break for talking too much
Sarah’s open hand
would become hers and mine
two moist bunches
of stubby fingers
holding each other
briefly
her cheeks flush
of blotchy maroon and smile
mine of damp brown and giggle
all of this disappeared
when time
delivered us back
to class