I was the shyest girl in the high

school class and went unnoticed

while learning to play a violin

with a class of ardent amateurs.

My father quietly taught me chess.

Tennis came next. I passed all of

my courses, even with distractions.

Someone made a bomb threat so

the school teetered to a close. The

culprit had called off sick. Bullies

lurked in the stairwells. A boy sexted

a cheerleader, who was someone else.

A creep trashed lockers, but not mine.

Bad kids drank and smoked pot in

the parking lot. My room at home,

where I wrote poems, had a single

window. Every winter, during grim

weather, the domain seemed like

a perfect snow globe. It was a small,

radiant world contained in itself

which had a strong point of its own:

it remained intact when shaken.

By Sarah Henry

From: United States