Solace in Silence

After butchering a trombone etude,
I sat on a cold and rusty bench.
The air chilled my apathetic nerves,

revitalized my wavering faith in curriculum's merit.
well. not completely.

Few birds chirped
even fewer people spoke

the breeze below a whisper,
a whistle in my ear.

I listened for the occasional clip of our flag's hook against the pole

and smiled.

For there I sat,
breathing deeply,
realizing that I accommodate both textbooks and ambition,
stress and common sense,
fear and certainty.

As loneliness turned to contentment,
a teacher walked past.

I discovered that not even full grown women are exempt
from pretending to text
in order to avoid eye contact.
Not that I'd expect them to be.
Teenagers are difficult to connect with.
My eyes were ready.