The Good Sister

Oh how good she was

with other people’s children.

She taught kindergarten;

and year after year,

Hmong parents brought her

their hesitant children

to be introduced

into the American system.

She taught them in Hmong

and English, even some
Spanish, easing them

into the complex world.

She started out young, married

to her widowed brother-in-law,

when her sister died

from a botched operation.

Her nieces and nephews

became her sons and daughters.

But her husband eloped

with some closely related woman.

And she was left

with an empty house

and a roomful of children

in her kindergarten.

Word of mouth spread

of the good teacher.

And year after year,

we crossed school boundaries,

lied about our incomes

so we could bring our children

to this good sister

to ease into a new life.

Years after our children had moved
into the upper grades,

we would hear from her,

when some other parent passed

a hello from the teacher:

she wanted us to know

she was doing well, had found a man

who loved her,

and was married.

Then we heard she was ill,

dying from cancer.

We planned to go see her

but never had the time.

And when she died,

we said: Oh how good she was

with our children.