Wrapped in the St. Vincent winter coat 
adorned with iron on patched elbows,
I trudged through the near-foot-deep snow.
Around my neck is a scarf to warm my throat.


In her class, my numbness melted ever so slow
until the icy tone emitting from the nasal voice
said, “Write 300 words about life at home.”
I fell into a frozen crevice thinking, Oh! No. 


Minutes crept away swallowing second upon second.
Words stirred and tumbled until my stomach rumbled.
Suddenly she said. “ Class dismissed, turn your paper in."
My page blank! Not a word, just a watermark to reckon.


The tear that watermarked that paper that day
contained an encyclopedia of things never spoken.
No family trust was broken, just a splintered young heart.
The essay unwritten kept away inevitable gainsay.


Ms. Johnson never asked for an explanation,
So, I bought a journal and borrowed a pen, 
and just began to write about life via cognition
Not once did she offer a private conversation.