homeroom

bits and bobs of year 8 in these unstructured sentences – which appear to have no head nor tail. i write them anyway, to re call while/and what i can.

fruit, almost too ripe to eat. the negative of a film slide once glowing beneath my fingers. greying, yellowing, losing it’s gloss upon my lightest touch. pointed toes, dancing under summer’s fine grained rain. the bedroom door, always left ajar. streaks of light leaking inward, towards the steel that hinged my bed frame. blood-red knit jumpers and teal pleated skirts, dressing myself and a long sigh leaving my lungs. yanking ripped black stockings, attempting to hide it’s pin-tiny holes beneath my uniform.

a breakfast of tea and dry multigrain toast – slathered with a thin layer of strawberry jam. no butter please. see you after school grandma, as i disappear out the wired fence. earl grey’s citrus after notes, lingering between my gums throughout morning math class. it’s recess, and we gather around the oval. there are all sorts of rolling, skipping, chasing, chattering, and giggling. the boys’ grey slacks, are soiled with with mud from skidding around the soccer field. heat from the mid day’s sun has warmed the prickly carpet of grass, and so we sit – crossing our thighs, stretching our tights out.

my classmates have lunch boxes, filled with salted crisps, candy fruit roll ups, white flesh nectarines and coral peaches. we sink our teeth into sweet, seasonal fruit. i wish quietly for the berry season, to fall upon us soon. we chitter and chatter about small, trivial things – like the athletic carnival approaching, or why amy had received an infringement. the long hand will soon reach out to 15, and the school bell will ring that same familiar, piercing tune. as it does, we leap up and race back to our homeroom

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