The Classroom Spring

In winter months,
weather maps surrender muffled shores,
tears roll down clouds that pout,
like grey, soggy handkerchiefs wrung out,
flamenco footsteps hammer on the roof;
thundering applause.
I burrow myself in the earth,
a shiny white bean,
like classroom experiments in grade three.
Yoghurt pots as tower walls encase my fate –
a princess who sleeps by the window, lucky,
or wilted and workhouse yellowed by tungsten lamp,
or those we pitied most,
waiting in séance darkness,
for Aunt Agnes who never came.