kindergarten

she walks from her table
to return a pale blue plastic tray,
the square compartments
emptied of cafeteria food,

(according to a game,
she only steps on the green tiles
spread among the gray ones, spaced two apart,
long strides for her short legs)

her brown hair falls down
her back, framing a plain face
and big eyes that can’t decide
what color to be.

she is flanked by
her two best friends, girls;
one blonde, the other has
curly brown hair,

(the hair every girl dreams of having,
while watching Disney movies,
knowing that one day
she will be beautiful
and happy,
just like a princess,
just like the somehow-true
fairy tales,
with the talking birds that
land on your finger
and a bland but handsome man
who never fails to rescue you).

a once-friendly voice says,
I don’t want to be friends with
you any more, because
she’s prettier than you.

her feet pause for a moment
as she turns the tray in,
her small hands not wanting
to let go of the solid blueness,
her eyes not wanting to lose focus,
as her only two friends in the world
link arms and walk in the other direction,
smiling faces.