Ode to Period 2

always a mumbling chatter
seventeen languages, syllables mixed
small laughs and shout outs,
“Miss, Miss, Miss, MISS!”

bright, toothy smiles
eyes searching for answers
pencils searching for English words
tongues at a loss

sun rays bring in yellow light
on a room of dark-haired heads
and headscarves of every color
(peace in the making)

always asking questions
“Miss, Miss, Miss MISS!!”
what i hear as i fall asleep
my name chopped to one syllable


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