A note,
the note,
in a language she couldn't read.
Filipino,
like her grandfather,
with his scraggly beard
and too-thick glasses,
struggling to get out the words,
shaking when he held the pen.
And now she sat on the concrete floor,
hearing the too-loud sounds,
industrial music streaming in the windows.
She had to get away.
Somewhere quiet,
a place she could sit,
alone,
unbothered by the noise.
Under the tree,
out in the feild.
Now all she heard;
the buzzing of a bee that would leave her alone,
the wind blowing through the leaves above,
and the earth creaking like an old wood floor.
Tears streaming down,
her head in her hands,
wondering
'why'
as she held his last words.
Silver trophy winner
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