Читать книгу The Red Files - Lisa Bird-Wilson - Страница 9

Mischief

Miss Spencer arrives on a Friday by train

a tissue tucked in her sweater sleeve

her suitcase in one long hand, the vision

to civilize clutched carefully in the other

the farm instructor brings the truck

she folds her tall self neatly

onto the passenger seat like an origami bird

allows herself to be jostled

up the bumpy road to the school

it’s fair to say she starts with zeal

and a bundle of good will

but soon finds her expectations dashed

salvation more ephemeral than real

for two years she lives at the school

and takes photos of the little girls’ class

they come out in sepia tones, their

everyday dresses brown or beige

shapeless sacks like paper bags of loneliness

later, when Miss Spencer has the pictures developed

she’s surprised: the aura that surrounds

the girls not nearly as melancholy

as she remembers; instead,

there’s some mischief in the little girls’ smiles

and the light is bright in the sky—

eyes squinted, hand to brow

Miss Spencer tries to picture them all