Charlie’s in her room,
working on some school project;
I’m sitting in the living room alone,
reading Aunt Bee’s favorite
Agatha Christie book.
Aunt Bee sits down beside me.
She doesn’t turn on the television.
She just stares at the blank screen.
I try to keep reading, but it’s hard.
I’m waiting for her to say something.
I know that’s what she wants to do,
but for some reason she doesn’t.
Are you liking school, Paulie?
she finally says. She turns
to look at me. She doesn’t
seem to notice I’m reading her
favorite book again, even though
I’ve already read it three times.
It’s one of my favorites now, too.
Before I can answer,
she says, Do you like it here?
reading to us
from the front of the room,
how it warms me all through
because it reminds me
of life before my daddy left,
when Mama would read
to me and Charlie
from the books she loved as a kid.
I think of Mr. Langley and his
art room, how every corner of it
feels like home. And then
I think of my lonely lunch table
and the lonely halls and the
lonely minutes before school.