Time Passes, Stars Remain
There was the Grande Ourse
Recognisable by her
Wagon shape, count three
stars from the corner whilst
the cold envelops you and you look so
intensely your eyes almost make it to space.
And at night, when all was quiet, you slipped
out of bed. bare feet on the tiles, you skipped
to the safety of the rug. Your brother's night light
the way to freedom. With a blanket on your back,
facing the heater, you read and read, engrossed in
worlds unknown but still, still, one foot and ear firmly
in the present, listening for trouble.
Then there was the car, and the woods,
and driving home at night with the radio
playing soft songs of the past, and you, yes, the
melancholic eight year old (perhaps a little too
melancholic, maybe, a strange, grown up child)
watching through the window, the stars, the night sky,
that big expanse of unknown, enveloping the safe
haven of the car.
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