How I Got Home

Yes, it was dark.

No, I will not give you poetry.

I wore my headphones in one ear,

tripping down grassy slopes,

and back up much-too-wide steps.

And I think I saw a shadow

where the hedges formed a door,

I stepped through breathless,

brambles stroking me, guiding me home-

I know you want the beauty,

the 10:30 stillness, the woodland floor.

I’ll give you shaky phone torchlight

for what it’s worth, a few blurry pictures

of the moon- I tried my best to

capture that moment on film,

but it was already long gone.

Oh! The few crisps remaining in my packet

were a welcome moment of solace;

I crunched on through, as my boots

battled the fallen leaves emblazoned

with autumn and scorched with mud.

But this was barely more than a memory,

wistfully longing to return, I barely tasted

the salt, just reminisced on what ifs.

As the last warmth of summer evaporated

from my tongue, I thought not of now

or the shadows to come, but of 

all those flickering moments

that our senses take for granted

until they are gone.

Don’t you see:

I’m always the one stepping off the last train,

pouring ready salted crisps into my mouth,

piece by piece, savoring the taste,

the plastic soon to be thrown away.

Don’t you see: I’m not here.

Never here.