Browsing back through old papers today, I found this poem~
I hate the way you have to run ahead because the bus is coming.Schoolbooks bouncing in your bag –our uneven history already a burden on your back.There are the mornings we leave together & walkall the way down the hill together. Oh, the frost!you say, Oh, the little lines of ice on everyleaf! Oh, the color of the clouds! Oh, youare beautiful. Your face hurts me, glowingin the cold, the clouds blooming over the mistyfields. We stand, these mornings, a little whiletogether, waiting. I am ashamed of my face, so heavywith years, but your eyes still look steady into mine.And that’s a good morning. This a bad – rushed,sharp-edged. Both end the same.
You always going away & mesaying Go! Go! standing there watching you go.
© by Emma Jay
That wasn't very long ago.
That was so very long ago.