The murmur of students joking, reminds her of flies,

buzzing around her head,

never-ending, annoying, frustrating

she’s a harvested row, in a field of newly planted corn

she is ready for replanting, but she must wait for the frost to melt

the frost of decisions, stress, time, and not having enough of it

when she inhales, her throat itches, her back tense

her ribs are sore from unbelonging

here she exsists, merely exsists

but when she exhales, she goes to another place

to the life she’s a part of, she’s involved in

her tight toes release, and they crack all the eggshells beneath her

she blows up her own balloon, hangs on tight and flies away