Reflection

Reflection

Spring has come and he
is alone -
around him are others
yet he is alone, existing between them.

His eyes snap from the river
to the cotton mill,
far away, yet tall, imposing.
In the sea of his mind, memories float, resurfacing:
thick cotton dust, thicker coughs,
spinning, both cotton and himself from the heat
and the noisy hum – a bee in his eardrum.
He will not return,
not to the ten and three hours each day
nor to the nostril clinging smell
causing sneeze upon sneeze.

A splash sounds
to his left
and he returns
to the river.

A romance begins
between his sockless feet and the grass:
long strands like ribbons of silk
twist around and tickle his toes,
toes squeezing tight
keeping them there, their green playmate
for one second, two
before flattening them again.

A boy of eight or nine
is humming softly
as if copying the river’s rhythm.
It was he that caused the sobering
splash.
With busy hands as small as they are strong,
he washes his black beauty,
more than a foal, not quite yet a mare.
Small waterfalls run from her and
she is glittering,
her raven coat a blanket of miniscule diamonds
catching the rays of the sun.

The silver river has become
a rainbow -
reflections of azure sky,
grass more emerald than green
and running from the muddy horse
warm red and brown,
like the underbelly of a thousand salmon. *

In the wise and slowly blinking eye
of the sparkling horse
he catches a glimpse of himself,
solemn and calm
like the clouds floating above,
flirting with the sun and birds.
It is then, under the leafy shade

It comes to him, the realisation

That he is not a factory boy,
or a child
like the one before him,
but a man,
hopeful and unyielding.  

*This is a recycled image, it appears that I’ve used it more than once in different pieces, oops. Must take heed.

- 2010