arno niem Poet Free verse

the bell rings, but i don’t

the bell rings,
and the world moves again—
backpacks swing,
voices fill the hall,
and i’m still sitting here,
staring at a blank page
that keeps whispering his name.

my uncle is dying.
they said it so quietly,
like maybe if they whispered,
it wouldn’t come true.
pancreatic cancer—
last stage,
no cure,
just time,
as if time were mercy.

i used to think sadness was loud—
crying, breaking,
some movie thing.
but it’s not.
it’s quiet.
it’s when your chest feels heavy
but your face doesn’t move.
it’s when the teacher’s words
slide off your brain like water,
and all you can hear
is your own heartbeat asking,
“why him?”

i sit behind a school desk
while he lies on a couch somewhere,
fighting to keep his food down.
and i hate it—
how i’m here,
how i still laugh sometimes,
how life doesn’t stop for this.

they tell me to focus,
to eat,
to stay strong.
but how do you eat
when guilt sits where hunger should be?
how do you focus
when grief is already practicing its lines
inside your skull?

he still smiles when i visit.
two hours a week,
every time he says, “hey, kiddo,”
like it’s just another day.
but i see it—
the shaking hands,
the thinness.
he’s slipping,
and no one wants to say it out loud.

the bell rings again.
everyone leaves.
i stay.
because i can’t learn equations
when i’m already counting
how many weeks might be left.

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