My desk in the corner, back of class,
bookshelves hold sequenced myth
of dust-collected numbers and alphabet.
Algorithms explode from walls.
Mindlessly reading our scripts,
lines from Shakespeare bold on the page,
That died some twelvemonth since, then leaving her.
My heart skips a beat, dares me to rebel:
To ignite life amidst our boredom.
The bell rings and I remain seated,
waiting for awful stillness that remains.
Students rush through ancient hallways,
their chaotic voices invade empty classroom.
Window filters sunlight from sky-high.
Instead, I bury myself.
whisper, don’t look at me.
Divulge secrets to me,
break through my thick walls.
Samantha Seto is a writer. She have been published in various anthologies including Ceremony, Soul Fountain, Carcinogenic Poetry, and Black Magnolias Journal. She is a third prize poetry winner of the Whispering Prairie Press contest.
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