Raluca between classes

The car belongs to a junior,
a show-off who drove happily to school
in early morning traffic.
Now it sits idly,
a dusty dented Civic;
and she sits atop it,
Raluca, controlling
the morning sun
with two cigarettes in hand.

I point out this extravagence,
and she hands me one
and we talk of nothing.
I am staring deeply into dilated pupils,
filling the once blue grey of her eyes
with my questions and concerns

but they remain
deep dark holes against
her pale white skin.
shešs quickly becoming frantic,

animated by strange energies
she stomps heavily in a silent rage,
and she does not even rustle the air.
light on her feet, but commotion
is near
in her silly laugh

I see her as she
shrinks beneath sweatshirt and jeans,
baggy like mine,
making her look less tall, less strong, less elegant
less on the roof of a car

she becomes a baby
with wide eyes and
she would cry if
she knew where
she was
rocking nervously on a car top
lost in the
wait for a scream
that is stuck
inside and grows and
drains the soul from her eyes

empty
but the boys say
she is beautiful
theyšve watched her
prancing on their car tops
pounding windshield
until it shattered
and they do not notice her
break with the glass
while she dances
waiting for her scream
they sit in awe of her
silent flames


Nicole Vlado