Eyes that barely clear the podium
Gaze out and are met by hundreds
Of strangers who gape back like monkeys.
Clinging to a tree that is no longer there,
The perfume of funeral flowers
Wafts through the air.
Laughter and tears are the black
Dots on a porcelain domino.
Where is the line between appreciation
This piece has been published in Teen Ink’s monthly print magazine.