Construction paper turkeys

with primary-colored tail feathers

in the shape of our second-grade hands

roosted on the cork above the chalkboard.

All my work done,

I went to the bookshelves

in the back of the classroom,

passed by desks

of other seven-year-olds

suppressing itches and questions—

stilled to silence by the threat of the work at hand.

The radiator knocked comfortingly

below the row of frost-framed windows.

What if I touched my tongue to the glass?

Would it taste like a snowflake?

Would I reach the cold freedom on the other side

where there were leaves to pile and dive into

and red berries on the dogwoods to pick?

The radiator hummed.

Warmth calmed the call to wild things.

For a moment

I thought I heard a turkey gobble.

Construction paper feathers nodded.

A mind awake

wants to dream.

I reached for the bound freedom at hand.

Back at my desk,

still time to open a world

Secretly disappear.

Photo by sydney Rae on Unsplash