Refugee Girl In the Playground

Watching you

I see a pale string

drifting       out the door

stretching back

to where your parents died

in a faraway war.

 

In class you hold books

as if they were gold

squeal with delight

when the computer comes on

and now you smile

clap your hands

your voice tap-dances with English

making it hum

in mysterious ways.

You eat your lunch slowly

every bite precious

eyes scanning faces

looking for a smile

a spark of welcome

making the day

learning so much

teaching too.

Duncan Richardson

Refugee Girl in the Playground by Duncan Richardson placed third in the 13th Kathleen Julia Bates Memorial Writing Competition.