THE FOLLOWING POEM WAS SELECTED IN WINGWORD POETRY PRIZE 2023 LONGLIST.
She traced the alphabet ‘a’
Across the windshield of my car
It was, for me, a red stop on the way
And probably some more sales for her
Her ’a’ was gracefully cursive
Like the blown-away pattern of a falling leaf,
Or ribbons in my hair, tracing the wind
It was just a letter for me,
From the twenty-six in english that I knew of,
I wondered though what it meant for her
Was it just a random object in her head
Perhaps a figure splashed across a billboard
Or a pattern created in the clouds,
Just as far above her, as the dreams
She did not dare dream
The girl that wrote the ‘a’
Could not be older than me
Her eyes were a dead gray
And her appearance was muddy
She was not ugly; just poor
A younger kid followed behind her
Presently in steps
Eventually in life
Like scrolling through the unchanging pages
Of a minimal survival guide
The only distance between the girl and me
Was the fogged up glass in between
That her clothes were strewn with dirt
And that mine were clean
The difference was man-made
The divide created by opportunities,
And their lack of, thereof,
I could roll down my window
And share my gaze with hers,
Pull out the ribbon from my tidy hair,
And tie the unruly strands of hers
I could either teach her all about
The designer ‘a’ that she wrote
Or forget everything about
The alphabet ‘a’ that I was ever told