by Sylvia, Grade 10
“You have been asleep a while.”
She softly whispers,
“Are you very tired?”
Nothing stretches out infinitely,
The north and south, east and west,
All the same shade of sterile white.
I look down to discern what,
Cold surface greets my fingertips.
The table, chilled by neglect,
Touches the leg of a chair,
Connects to my buttoned up shirt,
And my blue tie.
I ask, “Where are my papers?”
In the absence of a response,
Frustration flutters in my gut,
Filling in for silence.
“Well? Where are my papers?”
Her eyes speak more than her mouth,
So I stare into them as though
She would have the answers.
“I was supposed to write a test today.
Where are my papers?”
I failed before I even started.
Then she spoke, and I regretted,
Ever wishing she would speak.
“Perhaps you didn’t study enough.
What’s your excuse this time? That you’re tired?
Yet others carry twice your burdens,
And you’re surprised they have double your value.”
I returned each word, and each pause
With my left hand, and my right.
Nobody holds me accountable in this empty hell,
Even when her teeth bend like door hinges,
And her eyelids swell and twitch,
And her lips crack and rupture.
Suddenly her face is more,
Every feature is on purpose.
I recognize her bruised,
Battered, and bloody skin.
It’s mine.
It was just a dream.
“You have been asleep a while”
My teacher says to me,
“Are you very tired?”
I realize I slept through my test.