By the pond

By | 15 September 2022

there was a school where classrooms were empty
and wide opened windows stared at scattered books,
crayons on the floor and children’s faces knocked down
from the wall, frames smashed. No lessons these days –
now, it’s a bomb shelter. The air still ringing,
rambling in the corridors after all the sounds
faded with a soft clap-clap – like the teacher
claps her hands, like seashells crack – bombs split
as if there was no waiting for the peculiar time
when April meets May, when tadpoles lose their tails.

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