We were learning about World War I—
I think.
I didn't know.
And it showed
through the empty paper, unfilled fill-in-the-blanks, and the
"Come see me" at the top of the page.
His eyes screamed Poor girl! as he whispered
"One more time."
But one more time,
and nothing changes.
So instead of filling the white page with words,
she adorned it with tears.

She ran to the bathroom where the ***** walls reflected
her chaotic soul.
Hidden in the stalls, she revealed her shame,
and bounded by shame, she released her hurt.
But it hurt even still...
unable to flush the waterfall from her eyes.
So a stranger, a plumber, made her heart full
when she told her
"Don't cry."
Her eyes sang to her the million reasons why.

It seems as if the world had gotten it all wrong.
The girl who was normal was not—
and the girl with down-syndrome didn't have down-syndrome at all, but the
up-syndrome,
infecting all those who were sick
with her contagious smile that was the vaccine
to the world trodden with
down-syndrome.

*—S.C., March 12, 2014