I Remember
By poetjude
- 1660 reads
I remember sun soaked grass seeds blown down the racetrack of a
school field, where colour surrounds too bright white light of a June
day, cursed only with now past doom of examination, utilising that last
intense equation before the long summer vacation spreads her warm
feathered wings over our burnt faces and bare legs. Simon opens a big
bottle of warm cider, which squirts with a hiss, like a snake, and the
sweet syrupy intoxication is passed round this group of cigarette
hardenened kids. Bubbly, appley haze, drunker than droning bees, did
you ever stop and look at their knees, 'cause that's what we feel, like
this glorious cut-grass field day, the taste of liberty, rolling with
the sun on the tongue of the young bandit. Wisps of smoke from burnt
out matches and laughter rises like birdsong above that day. A -levels
done, for right or wrong, applied physics and Newton's laws of motion
are still popping through our synapses along with the heady fermented
giggles. School now a memory, University just a dream. All is left are
these three months of grasping pool cue's and cool beer comradeship
along the River Wey.
I remember, the fearlessness, the dread of nothing, staring with virtue in our eyes, to the road of life ahead. Going to London on the
train to blow the excess of young money we earned, even those holiday jobs full of long lazy days and free pints of Grolsh. Bracelets eternal like we thought friendship might be, shoes like tyre tracks
winding their way to some unknown region. I'm not sure how much of the summer dust you feel, pulsing in your watery eyes when I tell you about
all this. What can it all mean to you - my own grief?
I remember when it seemed like somebody cared about us, when everyone was just one sparkle like the photon packages bouncing off the stream where thick vegetation grew and insects clasped to each drop of life. Memory contracts, like the ligaments of an old man's fingers, each year torn by time's winds from our hands.
Sanctity is all but lost in a world solid as a sand dune, and allmy memories are blown to the sky, delivered to those clouds the mailbag of
a human mind.
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