I am eleven, a child
of recent divorce.
(I do know what this means and I do not)
Outside the exotic bird store
I sit with my father and sisters,
savouring the dewy air of a summer night,
the melting sugar on my tongue.
Instinctively
I turn my head towards the smell of tobacco
and find myself facing the group of teenagers
casually huddled outside a radioshack.
Elegant blue smoke coils and twists above their heads
and becomes a cloud around them
like an idea that comes in focus
for the moment before it slips into the ether of subconscious.
I am standing with them
then.
Ice cream cone replaced by cigarette
careful braids replaced by loose ponytail.
A freedom I have never felt before.
And the terror of the realization
that I cannot be caught
not really
not anymore.
I did not know exhilaration and sadness
could be felt together and it occurs to me
as it will in moments such as these,
that language cannot always be used to untangle a feeling.