LE TRAN I at 8 I

from Spring 2013

by Somos Latinx Literary Magazine

DIVYA BHATIA I the memory room I

AT 8

by Le Tran

Every day I rode the bus, The yellow bus. It had the scent of dirt, of mist, of cold dirty misty school children.

I sat with Alex. We were the two losers on the bus. No one wanted to be our friends But each other, I guess.

He shared things with me, Candy, toys, English. And some other words, maybe They rolled a little more. But I didn't know.

One day after school I told my mom about Alex "Mom, I have a friend!" He isn't my trdng, white, I told her. He isnt my den, black, either. And he doesn't look like us, But he has our skin color!

LE TRAN I at 8 I

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DIVYA BHATIA I the memory room I

AT 8

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This article is from:

Spring 2013