Looking Up at Her
The next time I saw Lindsey,
she had folded herself up as small
as a dirty sheet of wrinkled paper
on the window ledge,
her arms around her knees.
(Maddy and Amanda?)
stood nearby, trying to make conversation,
but from the way Lindsey
kept shrinking into herself,
I didn’t think it was friendly conversation.
I looked up at her from
the courtyard below the window,
and I saw her face crumple
the moment before she buried it in her hands.
By the time I made it into the building,
upstairs, to the window,
I didn’t see any of them.