Yearbook
She skims over the pages of her yearbook.What possibility it holds! Hundreds, each a choice of life behind a flat inch of boxed-in blue.
Her eyes flick to the worn-out friends—
same hair, same sweatshirt.
It's a comfort, her eyes rest, locked on one,
then, dragged away, jump to the next too-familiar gaze.
She wants new.
She's stifled by the same—that sweatshirt, that hair.
Names fly by, she cannot focus on just one
Black names, white names—it makes no difference—
she's tried them all before.
Now skipping over, again to settle on the same.
Five faces? Eight? In a book of a thousand potentials
she dreams of meetings that will not take place.
She squints her eyes.
All the faces, identical circles, pixilated on the page.
If all are the same, and all are fair game—
then why does she have only five?
Poetry by bluebackpack
Read 581 times
Written on 2009-08-10 at 08:10
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