Terrified at my eighth grade graduation.
hands clammy, legs wobbly
walking down the center aisle
up to the stage, not sure I would make it.
Board stiff, first suit, first tie, black shoes.
Lined up by height, I was not shortest,
but I had to walk behind shorter Agnes.
She had some disease, had passed out
in class. Teacher said epilepsy,
a word we didn’t want to hear
after we saw here shaking on the floor.
But Agnes wanted to do the grad walk.
They picked me to be her guardian.
“You walk behind her and catch her.”
Down the aisle now, eyes glued
to Agnes’ back, her black hair
streaked with gray even at thirteen.
I was stiff as a rod.
One wag mocked me.
“Look at Frankenstein!”
My face turned from pale to red.
Watch, watch Agnes’ back.
Always watch someone else’s back.
Up short stairs, headed for the stage.
Agnes a slight trip. “Oh,God.”
She never fell. Teachers thanked me
for my bravery. Agnes graduated—
died at home the next week
Sometimes I see her
in my dreams.
She never falls.
Originally published in Tap Into Poetry