They let go 27 white balloons;
one for each year of your life.
We watch them dwindle
into the deep sky
and someone says,
‘they look like daystars.’
Later, someone remembers
your eyes, and how their friend
kept turning in English class:
‘they’re just so blue!’
Though we don’t normally hug,
we do today, tight arms expressing
what we find so hard to say aloud,
asking a silent question of comfort.
Saskia Scott (Western Australia)
An independent poetry journal. Watch your step.
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