Monday, November 28, 2011

walking to school

Armidale, June, 1997.

I, the frightened child,
stand gazing at the frosty mist
escaping from my mouth with every breath.

Though it hangs in space,
suddenly substantial,
I feel my self to be
the nothingness of vapour.
My breath makes a mark where I do not,
then fades.

I am unable to move forward or backward,
but instead I freeze also,
like the grass, the leaves,
the air around me.

I glance up the hill through the tunnel of trees.
I glance back down the hill, toward home,
my eyes sliding sideways, secretly,
not wanting to admit
I don't want to move in either direction.

The street is very quiet,
only the occasional bird wastes warmth on calling out
to a friend,
or a worm.

I am alone on the path.

'How long can I stay here?' I wonder,
lost in a vacuum of time between home and school.

The path obviously doesn't contain much interest in itself,
but I am tantalised, hypnotised, by the possibility
of sitting,
not stirring,
freezing into the background,
until the school day is over,
and I've run out of reasons not to go home.

No comments:

Post a Comment