The girl. I knew her a little. She was
There for a while. She had a young child
With autism, a boyfriend (not his dad).
She was there. She was gone. She had been sick
And dropped out of school. But I had known her
Enough, or she had known me. She had read
My writing in class. She could recognize
My characters when they moved one story to another,
When my stories were bad and no one cared.
I never had heard what happened to her.
I never cared. If she had finished school.
Or if she had nothing to show but bills.
I may never think of her (or her me)
Except for a moment in the mirror.