He said,
“Can you cry from a headache?

“Definitely,” I replied.

“Can you cry from nothing?”

“Well, you might think it’s nothing,
but deep down, maybe … ”

“Oh,” he said,
then looked down.

“Do you cry often?”
I asked

“No,”
he retorted,
too fast.

“Oh,”
I said. “So, do you want to work on the vacation packet?

“No, I have a headache” he replied.

“I cry often too,”
I tried.
But not that often
and not that way,
(we both knew).

Today somebody broke
his grandmother’s rosary beads.
His beads, he, who
is a talented artist first,
has a headache second,
and lives in foster care too.

He says “Thanks” before he leaves
I wonder what for and smile
meaninglessly,
wishing it could mean
more.