Within the high school in South Plainfield, New Jersey,
Sticky notes and poster boards litter the door.
And the eyes of a quaint little Italian woman
Brightens with compassion and joy.
She rides over to me gladly out of her office
As I walk into the guidance office.
I say my hello’s and step into her office
Which was littered with papers, as always.
I descend into that brown recliner and let the chair hug me, she smiles and chuckles
That I have come.
She rubs my knee and smiles like a child happy to see its mother. She’s my second mother.
I don’t feel alone when I come see her.
Just like before,
She goes onto her computer and checks on her other students’ grades.
I would like to stay here with her,
For she rolled over to me
And squeezed my right hand.
Her skin fair, but signified her age through her wrinkles,
Her black hair falls wildly down her neck,
And the light glistened her myriad of photos all across her wall.
Suddenly I realize
That the bell had rung and I have to go back to class.
I wrap my arms around her
And feel her pull me into her with a great deal of force.
I walk out and smile as I hurry down the halls,
To narrowly escape the late bell.