Kindergarten

an open lunch box in front of the girl

with jet black hair and wide brown eyes

that stared at her lunch.

her puto looked back.

the birds sung.

but they all stared.

gross gross gross gross

she thought sharing her happiness would sound different,

like the birds that sang with her each morning.

the lunch box closed

they kept calling her name

the birds were quiet

but that was kindergarten.

a constant warzone of normalities and peanut butter sandwiches.

she wished she could hear the birds

as she stood idle, waiting for her turn on the swings.

but all she could hear were shouts of joy that were never joined by her own.

and she wished she could hear the birds

over the jokes she had to laugh at,

or the silence that filled the nights

when she stayed up waiting, dreading.

but that was kindergarten, wasn’t it?

or rather, was it her time to let go of the bird house

she spent so long making?