for Chay
At last they head off,
breathless, the kids
calling goodbyes
down the damp road.
Everything is still:
faint, colourless,
grass fading on the
hillsides.
It’s high summer, but
just a little rain has fallen
kissing the dust, damping it down.
Light is low over the hills. Two
mothers: friends,
neighbours, telling stories
of places they’ve lived, the
people they were before kids.
Quite surprising
really, their paths never crossing then.
Same inner-suburban streets,
terrace houses,
universities, all that
vast territory seems small now.
Well, it was long ago.
X:
You Are Here.
Zoom out: the hills, the mothers, almost home.
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