Poetry

Rachel

by Kari Sandstrom French

We hold hands
walking to the cafeteria,
both aware she is a
casualty of the
reading lesson.

She tells me, “I can
read all my friends names,”
and I compliment
her memory.

Comfort returns.
She brightens, “I am
the one who remembers
all our family trips —
because that is
important.”

And I am transported
to a group of four
in an Impala,
pulling an Apache.
A smile does not leave,
but lingers.

Upon arrival
we unfold our
fingers —
soulmates now,
celebrants
that we are loved.