by Ernest Hilbert on 21/01/14 at 9:24 am
there was a cold thick strip of ancient concrete
and ashy calloused toes
stumbling light like tips of flame on matches
And doing nothing
was a job description once.
With plump fingers we plucked concrete
and grasped brass coins between our toes.
Our socks where either lost or didn’t match
and on the N-Judah, this girl named Sarah was brilliantly lit.
More kids where stuffed in that bus then white fits in a lightbulb
and I could see nothing
because I can still remember that there was nothing like school days outside of school (for once).
And Sarah told me nothing was concrete.
She said the best part of the trip was tracing the shadow of the boat’s tow
till black ropes and dark sea perfectly match
And I sat perfectly unmatched
because to a child ideas are still giant-sized lightbulbs
So I say nothing.
Because Jesus was five year once
cutting wood with his father. And at 10, I helped dad mix troughs of concrete
and I almost forgot the feel of lime between my toes
but Sarah didn’t! And I couldn’t hear the frantic beat that wiggled her toes
if I tried. If only the vibration of Sarah could be matched!
If only the filament of flame atop us relit
because for now, I see nothing
and we where all five years old once
and Sarah crystal eyes are the color of the new concrete
because who says that concrete
is man made rock the resting place forever for our toes
when we walked in shoes that didn’t match
and we lit
piles of driftwood and paper on beaches for nothing
and maybe we all plucked through solid earth once.
And sometimes at night I dream that Sarah tows me through oceans of concrete
To tall island mountains of light and I’m trying to match her strokes
because once upon a time there was no age and all we needed was nothing.
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