When the girl fell and could not be resuscitated,
we received a message in the group chat
informing of a meeting that was to happen
in an hour's time because of "an incident".
Listening to the principal, I pictured the girl rising,
like a string puppet, from the canteen floor, the gasps
and shrieks scurrying back into the agape mouths
of her friends, and she taking a few steps back,
reclaiming her rightful spot in the queue.
Someone tapped me on the shoulder to ask
if I was ok. "I'm ok," I said, "I did not teach her."
The next day, the kids were silent after the news
was broken to them; a girl uploaded a document
entitled "How to Make an Origami Heart".
Dog-eared, multi-coloured, grief folding into grief,
I bore these little hearts, like a waiter,
to the general office, placed them in a box
marked "Letters for the Family",
ordered a cab, went home.