On the Run, Not Left Behind
Clifton could not read, but since he was quiet, nobody knew—except for me.
He crouched behind a book like a rabbit hides behind a rock as a fox sniffs;
quivering, shivering, terrified of the claws as much as the cruel hees and haws
that would surely fill the classroom if any of them discovered what I had.
Clifton could not write, but since he was quiet, nobody saw—except for me.
He slipped under papers like a seal escapes beneath the glaciers to the sea,
wiggling through ice and tearing through numbing waters to avoid the spears
that would surely pierce his pride if any of them discovered what I had.