QUADRANGLE WALL
Each day in the lunch break he saw her,
Across the quadrangle, sat on the wall.
Her lunch box beside her, staring into space,
And no one in that crowded space,
Seemed to talk to her at all
Was it her own choice, that solitude?
Was she happier to be in isolation,
Or did it hurt her deep inside
Every day to be denied
The chance to join in other’s conversation?
So what was it that set her apart?
Why had she not been welcomed there?
Was she perhaps from the wrong side of town
Her skin too deep a shade of brown?
Or was it that they did not care?
On Friday, in the lunch break, he joined her.
“What’s in your sandwiches? Mine are cheese”
She shook her head, “Please look at me.
To understand I need to see
Your lips. And speak slowly please.”
They talked, albeit haltingly, throughout the break
Sharing sandwiches along the way.
He learnt from her about the curse
Of her silent universe
And the challenges she faced each day
And so they met up daily after that,
There on the quadrangle wall.
Oblivious to the crowd around,
He blocking out the buzz of sound.
They had no need of them at all
Soon he started learning signing
As their friendship grew and grew.
And as soon as he’d begun,
He taught himself an easy one.
It was the sign for I love you
Copyright © Bryn Strudwick | Year Posted 2024
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