"You Are Here" by Darcy IslaKasim jiggles at the curb, waiting for traffic to clear, then runs across and into the department store. I brace myself against the still chill of this grey country, hands in pockets and head in hood. I clutch a glossy plastic bag of new trinkets to my side. I was paid today. It is late for Christmas shoppers; I am here at the end of the rush with those who couldn't make time for such trivial things because their days were filled with more aspirational decisions. Decisions that affect whole catchment areas, whole countries.
I keep company with my reflection in the puddle. I am a middle-aged shape with the face of a child awaiting the first day back at school, in the yard listening to the cacophony of yells and laughter and a season's worth of questions - where did you get that bag, Shadi? Did you have to see your uncle, the one with the big face and hands? I picture our flat on the nation's special day next week and watch the reflection of the sky turn mischievously bright blue, like a kid sneaking a volume dial back up when they've been told to keep it down. I think about all the things I came here to do. Think about the first days, weeks. How the months have passed. What 'long-term' looks like now. The meaning of 'comfortable'. I learn of a hole in my shoe where the puddle has crept in to remind me - you are here.
1 Comment
Joy Cox
11/29/2020 12:04:57 am
Lovely piece. Images popped into my mind.
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