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Katherine Davidson

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The Rambler

Rambling, a. Peripatetic, wandering; disconnected, desultory, incoherent

I look into the flames
And I hear the calls of others
But I’m still alone
Always alone.
The fire, like me,
The heart the strongest,
And though it fills the space
The flame fingers flickering
Can only singe,
Not burn,
Not scar,
Only itself it can.
Its own undoing
Burning its heart out
If not provoked to try to stay alive.
And fumes drawn away
From golden fingers
Will soon tear
From the strength
Of its heart,
And it gives its life
To live.
It’s the beginning of the end,
But the beginning is the end.
Life slipping through flame fingers.
Always in the backward shadow,
Older than myself.


And the summer’s gone
Though it only just began.
I listen to the songs
And remember.
But silence is a girl,
A better friend than most.
So youth falls through my fingers
With the sands of time,
And I burn a rambling path
Through the fields of my mind.

 

(written at age 12)

Page(s) 91

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