Sitting outside in the driveway before heading in

I’m icy. I sit, car steam rises. This year, the same as each year. This rite, a sham. Their harm, my scar. Time sires this chasm, yet I try. Tears are ice as I sit. I tame my ire, stash my shame. My crime? I stray. I rise. 

Stephanie King writes stories and fights for public schools in Philadelphia. You can find her at or on Twitter @stephstephking.