Whispers from School

Away from family and
the familiarity of home
Long black uniforms whisper
as they skirt the corridor
Hard wooden benches, wooden rulers
and wooden rules
My mother sent me here, my Auntie is more
than a sister to her
This arrangement has left me an outcast
like I’m spy in a foreign nation
Who took the cookie? Who was talking?
Who wets the bed?
My hands are clammy again
and my eyes are cast low
I grip my prayer book and
piously pray together
My mind rises searching
I ask Father God that
My teachers treasure
Compassion rather than
pierce My tender soul with
heavy sins so often petitioned
My pray book is worn like
comfortable shoes that could
whisper many sorry stories