That time, do you remember
when we walked, balanced on
the rails of the railroad
behind the playground?
Hands in pockets, your eyes
braiding every booted
step into a line?
And me, my bare feet waving
transverse across the ballast,
landing wrong, but steadied
when they played the song that
fastened your ears like the
sleepers between the rails.
The once I caught you
lockstep was because you
said that the sound streaming
pink and ragged through the air,
was weighted the same
as the metered arch of yours—
different colour, same sky.
But then, you could never
remember. I can’t hear you
when you walk on my left side.
-lh (01.24.22)
Lindsay Hutton 