Ido Diamant // JUSTICE

I sit. The bench is warm,

The sun smiling upon it. The lime grass

Welcomes the class, cooped up like chickens.

My pages rustle, words streaming into my mind.

 

A boy sits,

On an adjacent bench.

He is from

Halfway around

The world,

New, different.

 

The boys laugh and run, the football

Flying between them.

He stares longingly,

 

Lingering.

Wanting.

Excluded.

 

I bury my brain in the book,

Avoiding his gaze. (Why?)

 

This is me. I prefer books. (Why?)

Discomfort is present,

When I speak. (He needs a welcome)

 

My breath heaves. (Why?)

My legs tremble, and straighten.

I am standing.

 

Stepping.

 

Marching.

 

Greeting him, his face glows,

A lamp clicking on,

A spark igniting,

(Why?) He is not different.

He stands.

 

He reaches the boys. He is one of them.

There is no separation,

Not anymore.

The sun smiles. The clouds meander. The whistle blows.

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