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The Window Seat

Zoe B.

Here I am again,
staring out a window at the concrete,
as the engines begin to roar.


I try not to think,
because then I might cry.

I turn
to the name
on the screen
black on white

this is a replacement
for my friend’s face,
Her laugh,
Her voice.
The words in a bubble.

I guess it’s better than nothing,
but really,
it’s nothing.

We said we’d stay in touch,
but I’ve seen what really happens.
It works at first,
but as time goes on,
go unread,
that Minecraft server
we loved so much,
practically humming with activity,
becomes Deserted.

who was at some time
a part of my life,
is reduced
to a sharp rock
in the rolling sand dunes
of my brain.

New friends come,
are left behind,
to add to the ever-growing collection
of rocks
strewn among the grains of sand

and now I’m staring out the window,
wiping the tears from my eyes.

I don’t want to look
at the name
on the screen
black and white

Or the bubbles
filled with words.
Not even
a real conversation.

I hate it,
the words on the screen.
I imagine throwing them away,
onto the concrete,
just a speck
and getting the real person back.

But I can’t.

The words
on the screen
are doomed to become
More unread messages,
More forgotten voices,
More jagged rocks
at the back of my mind.

Author's Statement

Do you have poetry to share with your fellow military teens?

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