Byrne

After school, you walk home together, slapping sandals against the dusty hot pavements, to Laura's. She teaches you a song on the way. The words don't make sense at all but they sound funny next to each other and bounce on the tongue, making you both laugh. Her long blonde plait is coming loose: the bright green hair elastic slips down until you think it will fall right off, but you don't tell her. You like the way it looks, don't want her to redo the plait neatly, to tie the elastic on tightly.

My mouth was crushed in that moment of impact, I breathe through other holes, I think inside as I sit in the out. You can't run with the hare and hunt with the hounds, I once told myself. You can't measure the sea with a shell.