A classroom of fifteen,
third graders,
a note sent home
stated our names
we were required valentines.
The room was transformed--
hearts and cupids crowded
multiplication tables and the alphabet
border in perfect penmanship
A construction paper box
of red, pink, white, and
silver glitter was on the desk unused,
doubling as a kleenex box next week.
Digging through stacks
of pre-cut rectangular valentines,
sorting out “likes” and “dislikes”
silently ranking their meanings.
The flavor of the paper-thin
envelope was stuck on my tongue,
the flap curled upwards, stickers of
glossy red hearts crowd
each envelope, pinning down
corners. As we passed them out
eyes avoiding contact, crimson
red colored our faces as we passed crushes,
empty desks were our friends.
for that moment we were
force fed love.
Kristine Leja is a recent graduate of the University of Illinois at
Chicago. Email: trixies_star@hotmail.com