H.

A little brown face looks up at me
Her eyebrows pushed together
I'm sorry we made you sad, Miss Erin.
She is one of the few children
who tried to listen today, who
did not run around the classroom,
write ASS on the blackboard,
giggle when I scolded.
She is sorry for something she did not do.
I wonder as she bends to help me clean
up the plastic straw covers, empty juice boxes
crushed pretzels in the carpet. She tries to lift a chair
onto a desk only inches shorter than she.
I wonder at a child who told me
I didn't get to eat today
when I handed her an apple, then
this is so yummy as she bit into its green skin.
I pick up ten other apples, uneaten
remember the other day.
She wouldn't throw away a granola bar
that had dropped on the ground.
Sand covered its edges, but she held it
in both hands, savoring its rough
oatmeal touch, as other children threw theirs
to the ground, crushing them under shoes.

by E. M. Soos

Background on this poem