Cathy Died

Cathy’s desk was moved
To the back of the room
And draped in purple bunting.

The teacher made a short
Terse announcement:
Cathy died.

Cathy.
The sweet
Little round-faced girl
With freckles
Who always smiled
Always had nice things to say.

Cathy died.

There were no panels
Of counselors
To help us grieve.
It was simple and direct.
It was the first
Among my many encounters
With Death.

Cathy died.

Now open your math books.

I was eight years old.
More than half a century later
I still see Cathy’s desk
Buried in bunting
At the rear of the room.

Eight year olds do not die.
Unless they do.

Cathy died.

And somewhere
In my little child brain
We all died a little bit
Between the Pledge of Allegiance
And Arithmetic.