by Emylee Ballo
For the first time, I saw someone
in two places at once.
His elementary legs four yards ahead of his mind
running away from the bullying stick-throwers
his brain longed to name friends.
The little boy didn’t resemble the others—
dirtier than the path he ran on
smaller than the single-portion meal he didn’t receive
But more joyful than the songs he clapped to
in the third-world classroom.
I didn’t know his name
but to him, I was “Teacher.”
I only wanted to help aide his time left on earth—
Just have him sit on the side a spare moment
and if he waited with his water
he would receive a double portion.