the end of infinity

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Infinite blue skies

merged with your blue walls

…travelling-dreaming

we talked about what we would become.

 

At 15 you were already 27

impatient for the responsibilities of being

a mother, a wife.

Our lives were already

bound for diverging paths.

 

I don’t remember studying together

time together was too precious…

Soft white cotton from yesterday’s halloween costume

caught up with baby green leaves

rolling down the pavement like tumbleweed

far from home.

I am transported…

back to your room again.

There were books (weren’t there?)

Neil Gaiman (mine) and Margaret Atwood (yours).

I remember talking and dreaming.

the end of an infinity of

five-hour afternoons

in a time without

distractions

 

There was no way of knowing

(what others thought)

and we learnt not to care.

They were tiny grey pebbles

on haphazardly-laid concrete tiles

(perhaps something worth remembering,

even more important now,

when we are not allowed to forget)

 

There were too many

orange/red leaves

to catch before they fell.

Each one a cradle

transporting wishes

like ours.

 

After the fall…

crumpled green cans

litter the asphalt

showing up dirty white cigarette butts

flayed and exposed

I fell.

tumbling sideways and laughing

but you were not there anymore.

*This is part of an experiment with poetry, film and movement. Click here for the link to the film.

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