The honor roll is posted
on dinky, pastel colored paper
un-centered and haphazard
between gold glittered stars,
glue-stick gunk still showing.
Kids chatter excitedly
about making it.

They are responsible for making meaning
I realize at parent teacher conferences
when of the mere 37 parents that come,
every honor-roll student is represented.

What hope do those kids have
who won’t even feel the pleasure
of the half glittered star
and poorly hung, pastel paper,
let alone someone who cares?

An eerie calm is all I’ve managed
a place where someone might think
for at least 45 minutes
that they might mean something.

What if, really, no one has told them that before.
Sure someone once scribbled a little compliment about hand-writing
But who ever had the strength to believe
They could make it. Not just say it
Sure some that could do
But who could through and through have thought you
Yes you could have your name in colors
Who drew attention to the blank
Your name could have filled
Who wasn’t scared to say, “Even if I see no way
I will make the time today to not
pretend and really say,
I know not how, I know not where
But I see your soul, and I see it clear
that there are moments
of deepest grace when your eyes flicker
and I know the deep disgrace of you not knowing
that you are eleven
so only eleven, and all things are
impossibly possible.

If I could hold that disbelief
and suspend you
I know you could fly.