By Tru Dillon June 1, 2010
30 pairs of tiny eyes drill my petrified head
Faceless teacher persistent teacher asks where is your fudge?
We have just tasted small dark squares presented by a nervous red haired girl
Our Mothers were instructed to help us
with the recipe and the ingredients
My classmate had by evidence received this help
What of the many notes sent home to my Mom
or the ones I crumpled up?
What of the begging for money to buy the few ingredients needed?
One day I forget
The next day she forgets
The faceless persistent teacher never forgets
Each morning first thing I think of is fudge
and my inability to produce any
My worry, shame and anxiety grabs tight little fingers
and pulls more hair from my growing bald spot
In class we have tried fudge with walnuts or raisins
some made from condensed milk
Each child proudly presents their confection
and explains how they made it
I cant make it
I never make it
Did I forget?
Did my Mother forget?
The Faceless persistent teacher never forgets
For this remiss of fudge I receive a failing grade in English
And later on report card day
when my father dispenses beatings
to help us
and we children silently wait in the darkened hallway
I know my turn will come
and I accept my fate
Tru Dillon has been involved in art since she was born. Drawing, painting, singing and writing have captured her interest above all else. She wrote her first book of poems at 12 years of age and has since written many more poems and is hoping someday to create another book of her poetry. For now she is content to write on the World Wide Web.