Poem for a Freshman

I loved a girl named Valerie.

Lonely, lost and puzzled in a strange new world, I loved her bright smile, the way it filled her entire face. I loved her eyes, looking at me in friendship unsullied by distance or reserve. I loved her for her warmth, her openness, her readiness to talk at three in the morning when sleep was farther than home and home was impossible. I loved her because she didn't run from my love, undeclared and unrealized for so long. Even after I found its name, even after it saddened her, she was my love.

She was Filipino. I loved her despite her religion. I loved her despite her distrust of Mexicans, which I never understood. I loved her when she ran out of money and dropped out of school. I loved her even when she moved in with him, even when he and I pretended we weren't fighting about her.

She did not return next semester, or ever after. I have another love now, who can accept what I have named to her and who has a perfect smile of her own. But a place in my heart is dedicated to Valerie, who of all the gifts she gave unknowing, earned my gratitude by teaching me how to love.

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