Oh, those days
when all was not unbalanced
with plaited hair, just like her mother's
she would walk, protected,
before the sadness pressed upon her neck
and her hair unravelled,
so easily falling down her back.

Those evenings roller skating across that dark avenue
her white dress catching the light at times...
and the lamp she bought for her bicycle
it would shine so brightly, she would touch it's heat.
She was sure she could taste the heat
She could hear it and breathe in the fire there.

Something happened gradually, dripping slowly
between the light and the dark
or perhaps the dark and the light
but that's just a detail, surely.

These days...

She talks in monotone
long gone, the chattering
which spilled out from the curbside
sitting with her girlfriend
laughing with the sudden rain
which made her knees tingle
and sparkled in the palms of her hands

You say you understand this
she whispers, yet you do not

She's almost right.
I want to understand this
yet... I do not.


Miakoda 2006



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