Twenty Seniors chosen to mentor Freshmen.
April says she has me, why does she need them.
She opts out,
I opt in.
In a room on the twelfth floor I’ve never been to,
the windows here show us into
other people’s lives.
Huddled around a wooden table,
Mr. R tells us congrats on being chosen,
assigns us a partner, a group, tells us
we also have to interview our own mentors.
Something catches my eye,
I peer into the windows:
TV flickering in one.
An old woman in a turban, smoking.
Curtains. A potted plant.
And a little girl staring out,
unblinking like a doll,
too little to be alone.
I raise my hand to wave but
Mr. R calls on me to share with the group.
My mentor is my dad.
I look back to the windows:
TV still flickering in one,
the woman still smoking,
but the little girl, staring out—
gone.