Choumert Road
Now the weather has started to get kinder, I’m going
to use my feet for once. Instead of taking the underground
I’m going to enjoy the freedom of the mid-June air
just as long as it hangs around. In the park, I pass couples
out jogging, young parents teaching their children how
to play, the appropriate usage of the world. Solitary
individuals cradle cups of coffee in the half-warm sun,
the scent of flowers above the green. To walk is to get
what one wants more slowly, to allow room for dreaming.
Haven’t we all imagined the places our walks could lead
us, if we let them? Rounding a corner, I remember having
been this way once many years before: it was October
then. We were in your small red car, your hand confident
on the gearstick, and you turned to face me with a
conspiratorial smile. This should not be memorable but it was.
Leaning in, those two boys kissed, and I remember the acrid
taste of his lips, the dark intuition of his mouth, the way
we exhaled. I thought at the time it was relief. The traffic
lights changed and we moved off. I know that wandering
cannot bring anybody back, but I was on my way somewhere
and have forgotten where I needed to go.
