Any Given School Day

Even on a good day, she feels
bereft. Alone. Hunted and haunted.

Her head is a circle of eyes,
each staring in a different direction.
All of them blind.
If there is anything to see, she doesn’t know.
She cannot lift her chin from her chest to find out.

When requested or required to speak in class
there is a rabbit-thump reverb in her voice.
Skyrocketing towards stroke.
If it is noticed, she doesn’t know.
She is too busy berating herself for the fear.

There is too much.
Too much noise, too much silence.
Too much light and absence of same.
It is far too loud, bright, dim, quiet.

Buses and stairs are a problem.
Empty, they are menacing.
Full, they are the same.

Each startled jump
makes her even more self-conscious
and more likely to do it again.

The whole thing is a product
of her own imagining.

She looks at her works,
her grades, her thoughts, her words.
The story they tell seems obvious
to everyone but her.

It will pass.
It will get better.
This will all become common and safe.
It has happened before.
It will happen again.

It will happen again.

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2 thoughts on “Any Given School Day

  1. I always see favorite bits that jump out:

    Her head is a circle of eyes,
    each staring in a different direction.

    There is too much.
    Too much noise, too much silence.
    Too much light and absence of same.
    It is far too loud, bright, dim, quiet.

    All of it puts a face on a feeling. Nicely done.

    1. Thank you.
      I may have once mentioned that I am not a poet – I certainly don’t have the necessary skill to spear just the right phrase out of the word pool*

      But sometimes a feeling is intense enough for me to try.

      * – where we all go to drink (S. King, “Lisey”)

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