Valedictorian

“Let me go,” I said to the president

of the college, as he prolonged our handshake

center stage at graduation in the huge gym,

indoors because it threatened rain that day.

No one heard because of the applause,

surging, echoing through the glossy cavern.

I wanted to be gone, off the stage.

I wanted it all to be over. Looking back,

that sentence is prophetic, deeply true.

How is it possible I was married

at that moment, his parents astonished

I was first in class? Mine, perhaps, too.

I hadn’t been keeping track of my class

standing. Why would I? Now I recall

rumors, murmurs of the top three,

statistics. Was that all during the mingling,

the standing in line in our black gowns?

And my young husband had such low

self esteem, he’d have to punch and kick

his way out of our marriage, starting now.

— Babs