The Ghost Child

I remember the first day he entered my classroom
An angry spirit bent on self-destruction
Defiant, stubborn, rude
He was a ghost and knew it.

His hair revealed bits of blond under weeks of dirt
His clothes cast offs from another time, not his own
They swallowed his small body like his anger swallowed his soul


I remember the first day I looked into his sky blues
A hurt that belied his tender years
A question, a hope, a longing
But he was a ghost and could not be seen.

Hugging him was like holding a rabbit in your arms
Sitting quietly, patiently, waiting for a chance to run
There was a tension in his small body that kept his fear at bay.

I remember the first day he smiled at me
A hint of joy in a boyish grin under unkempt hair
A relief, a belief that love can come from the outside in
He was not a ghost, he was of worth, at least in this room