At home, Dad’s eyes bright,
he’s in the kitchen,
warming soup.
I tell him about Kurt Cobain,
he shakes his head, sits.
Mom and April, in the living room,
practicing lines for the spring play.
Feeling lighter,
after confessing everything
to Dylan, Chloe.
I stick my head out the window,
a breath before I start my homework.
Even though it’s chilly,
faces of green leaves poke out,
sprouts from skeleton trees.