You Are Here

You are here, at the cusp of adulthood, the key is in your hand for 21C Autumn Lodge.
He is there, teetering on the edge of maturity in an adult body, a coffee in hand, a dog by his side and the world on his tongue.
For the love category of the Christmas Competition 2017

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16. And clarity slips in

 

And clarity slips in

when your foot

tumbles

On the first patch of ice

Just right outside the door

Of Autumn Lodge.

He catches you,

A breath of laughter bursting out

At your clumsiness.

 

But he is there to steady you

And you freeze just looking at how the sun

Shines

Onto his eyes.

 

“Let’s go.”

You walk arm and arm,

Scarf and scar

Together

From where he tripped and fell

Out of a tree house when he was six.

 

He tells you when you notice it

And your boots don’t catch on the ice like they used to

Anymore.

 

Home is a person

And wherever

You are

You are captured in the warmth

Of home.

 

Maybe home is you.

Maybe home is him.

 

But it is a person

That always has your fall,

To make sure that scars and bruises

Don’t come.

 

You walk the meagre distance to the nearest shops,

And childish nature becomes him.

 

He lets you go for a minute,

The distance echoing

Even though it is small.

 

Then his gloves,

The very same you saw in the coffee shop,

Wrap around snow

And you know what he is about to do.

 

Your feet fight to go backwards

To run where ice won’t make you crumble.

 

But that doesn’t work either.

 

It smacks you in the nose

An explosion of cold

And it takes you forever

To shake the feeling out of your eyes.

 

But then your heart warms,

You lungs lets go

And your hands come to the snow for the first time.

 

“The game is on.”

 

You wish you had the hand eye coordination

When your first ball misses

And he falls and laughs

At it all.

 

But then vengeance becomes you

And you are skating around

With wings on boots

And snowballs hurl at him.

 

Snowballs hurl at you,

The crinkled man retiring to a child

As they come.

 

The air is frozen

And warmed

By youth

And the streets are deserted

Except for the flurries of flakes

And the two people who dared to regress

Into bodies of past years. 

 

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