Waiting

Pressed up against the glass

Waiting to see you

I breathe in,

Count slowly, and breathe again.

A car drives past

Then turns

Into the driveway two houses down.

A soft mumble behind me

From the television;

I will keep waiting,

Breathing steadily,

Until the garden gate swings open

And you come home.

 

 

Advertisements

Through the Grove

Crushed leaves underfoot

From the orange trees above us

As we stomp through the grove,

Loudly,

To scare away any snakes

Who might be lurking,

Although we rarely see them.

 

Rotting skin of fallen oranges

Decaying in the dried grass;

Streams of ants

Rushing to and from the fruit

As you splash in the puddles

Made by the old green hose.

 

We stack small stones,

Rake the dry dirt together,

Draw with twigs along the ground,

Water the weeds.

 

So many questions

Which I had never thought about;

You help me see the world

Through new eyes,

With new wonder.

You make me realise

How little I know.

 

The scent is beautiful

From the orange leaves:

Inhaled and gone in an instant,

As these days will be,

When I look back on them.

Porridge

Sticky sweetness bound together

By oats in the morning drizzle

Grey days poured away with the milk

As the sugar clumps in my mouth.

Waking up before daybreak

To only the light from the water tower,

I pull my scratchy tights on,

Stumble downstairs to my breakfast.

I am so tired and eat so slowly

That the porridge hardens and cools,

Feeling heavy in my stomach.

Dawn streaks across the sky while I rush,

Late again, to my classes.

I cannot say I  miss those primary school days.