CAUGHT CRYING
Sue comes into my room every day, armed with a shield of protection against the world. No one is ever going to hurt her again. The sharp edges of her cynicism can lay you open, so I proceed oh, so carefully. Where can I meet this girl? How far will she let me in? So far, she has refused the help that she so desperately needs.
But one day, she looks up from her literature book with a sigh of exasperation. “I just don’t get this Frost guy! What is he saying anyway? Why can’t he just speak in plain English?”
“Can I have a look?” Gingerly I slip into the seat beside her.
The poem is “Out, Out”. I know it well. It’s the story of a young boy who bleeds to death after a mistaken stroke with his axe as he chops wood at sundown. So we read it together. I let the words of this ghastly poem flow gently between us. Is she listening? I can feel my throat begin to tighten with emotion. Oh, no. She will think I am an idiot for crying over this poem. But when I steal a sideways glance, I am startled to see her eyes filling with tears.
This moment will keep me going for weeks.