At the end of the day in the locker room
Having no will to lace up, put on the jacket
and leave
I’m staring at the screen of my phone
Looking through
White noise of weariness is wrapping my head
Hunger
Nausea
The old air conditioner sounds like a wind whimpering
In the endless open field
I close my eyes
I’m in the endless open field
I’m a boulder halfway into the soil
Lulled by the soughing gusts
Young green fingers of grass tickle me
Embrace my dead cold skin
Tenderly
Stretching from beneath me
Towards the sun
The clouds so far away
The soil so soft
A squeak of the door
Hurried steps
I’m still here with one boot unlaced
One life unstarted
I exhale and stretch
It’s always too early to be a stone
It’s never too late to be a grass.
16.05.’17
To be a grass
© Copyright: Синнэ Ритари, 2017
Свидетельство о публикации №117051609331
Свидетельство о публикации №117051609331
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