The Land of Red Apples Poem

"My Uncomfortable Surroundings"


Their glassy blue eyes upon us,
Staring.

Fair women stopped their haste,
scrutinizing.

Large men halted nearby,
watching,
I resented being watched.

Bold, white faces pointed.

I was embarrassed,
sinking deep into my seat, eyes downcast,
constantly on the verge of tears.

We were disturbed and troubled,
us bronzed children.

Fear made my body tremble,
the only safety was up against a wall.

I was not happy,
falling asleep heaving deep, tired sobs.

My tears left to dry themselves,
my mother had never made a plaything out of her wee daughter.