Out of Focus by Alyssa Abell

Flawless sky,
 green tree tops to cracked brick buildings.
A lonely, white blossomed tree.
Train of chattering children, slowing to whispers.
Huddled close, whispering laughter, bubbling questions.
Curious eyes hit me.

The mall everyday, we were young,
home away from home.
Stares, whispers, sign language to gestures,
no one thought we saw.
Remembering how proud we felt,
coming out, hand in hand,
we were finally free.

Heaven scraping, wiry trees break the pale sky.
Brick clock tower stands proud.
Feet, murmuring voices echo
off the stone tiled courtyard.
Lamp posts boasting school pride.
Children flood out of the library,
they gather, some sit beside
me on the cool stone.

I used to teach Japanese,
to fourth graders.
They sat on eager knees,
Repeating me, Ohayou Gozaimasu!
Their admiration still overwhelms me.
Serious faces, tiny hands writing in Hiragana.
All exuding pride, they learned the whole alphabet.
Minnasan, iidesune!
I am still so proud.

Leafy, hearty bushes break to bring
a shocking sky and rough, bricky
building tops.
White caged gardens,
bushes with peach flowery companions.
How are you?

As a child I ate
a strange variety of non-foods.
Leaves, pine needles, grass, mud, and bugs.
We were chefs,
makings coffee can stone soup.
We were horses,
scavengers lost in the wood.
We lived in the trees,
watching the sunset on summer eves.

Converse scuff and scuttle on by.
Grey tiles are broken
by red stripes bearing words of
wisdom?
Shadows battle with sunlight on pavement.
Are there any questions?

Riding the bus,
Putting on head phones, listen
to music that feels you.
Don't look at me, you pray.
Don't sit by me, you beg.
The rainy days are the best,
the ones with fogged up windows,
and slow traffic.