poem || Steve Dalachinsky

ecole de rue des martyrs


all that remained
was one black
glove
where the children just seconds
ago
played wildly like a tribe
unruly yet semi-disciplined
white / bourgeoise
i stood transfixed
watching them chase eachother about
frenzied - shouting
5 yr olds at most
in the yard of the small private
school
they never noticed me
it was the first sunny day
in 2 weeks
all that remained of the previous
day`s blizzard
was the wet slickness of the cobble/
stones they trounced on
one child sliding every now &
then
twisting  - tugging  - pulling
i stood  - seeing into - thru  - beyond
them
remembering nothing of such a
life
but yearning for this nothing
none-the-less
the old fashioned hand pulled bell
rang
signalling the end of recess
in the recesses of my memory
i remembered this
the children rounded a corner
& disappeared one by one
until finally all that remained
were 2
the one small child in the
hooded red overcoat
who had desparately tried to
fit in somewhere
& a taller seemingly older
girl in yellow
who held tight to the back of
her coat - pulling tugging -
not letting go
her coat stretching like a
flare
in the cold air
as she tried desparately to
escape -
finally she was released
the yard now
empty
but for the silence of
dripping water
&
one
black glove.


dalachinsky paris 12/11/10