Written by Althea Dawn
My body freezes
in front of the railway crossing barrier
where the train keeps moving
Yesterday I was the passenger
who always ran like the wind
No other hands chasing after me
Now I stare at the neat shoes in the box
those shoelaces make circular scribbles
my fingers can’t undo them
My bare feet are swollen
aching for the soft padding
to hit the road again
Scissors in my trembling hand
Should I cut the laces?
Text © Althea Dawn
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