Painful Lessons: A Narrative Poem

Painful Lessons


Strands of crimson framed my freckled face,
Behind thick specs, I smiled a lot
They called me “Carrot Top,” but they were children,
Just kids, like me, whose choices came from little thought
I guess mine, too, were sometimes like that then

A jovial teacher was she on school’s first day,
And even on the second, she was nice
She gleamed in the morning session
Before the daily prayer and paper cutter cut, slice, slice, slice
When fourth grade class was ready to learn a lesson

Tiny girls in matching plaid
And spunky boys, all hushed,
Hovering fusty pages of used texts
Afraid to cough, or clear a throat, or shift
In our small wooden desks

I, in a knit green vest, tucked shirt tails and necktie
Something I said, or didn’t say,
or maybe something I did,
or that I didn’t do that day
I don’t know which it was; I never did

Her dark bead eyes widened at me,
And her forehead wrinkled below a stiff white wimple
The soft latching of the closing door to silence us
Though now I know it not that simple,
I thought she did that to avoid disturbing other classes

The choking smell of chalk dust on her palm
With force across her covered lap, a raised arm above me
Her black habit flailing like a witch in wind
I heard the haunting hit, one… two…. three…
And the sting lingered on with a new redness of my skin

After intimidation, terrorization, betrayal
Even after grown, a boy struggled with mistrust
If only once it were, I maybe could forgive
One day, I tried to find her; there were a few things we’d never discussed
Since I was just a boy and all. I learned she had a new way to live

Some years back, she’d left the convent
A part of me wanted to know why-
Maybe she’d been asked to leave by some noble bishop
Unconsecrated, her secret found out despite her lie
Or, maybe it was she who at last made herself stop

I don't know which it was; I probably never will,
But, I picked up praying again for the first time in years—
And I think I even smile a little more

Narrative Poem A poem that tells a story, generally long, free verse, may or may not rhyme. Written in a fictional monologue style.