there's a boy leaving home on the train - i can see him see his mother on the platform trying not to cry - the boy knows no restraint too young to hold it in he's bawling - for a moment he is me & i can feel that sad old fear of separation grown into stoicism followed by pure obliviousness - you grow up not to cry you leave so as not to give up who you are - your stories jokes hobbies - but it's a lie a cruel hoax - because one day it won't be you who's leaving - no it will be your own mother getting onto that train to leave forever to pull away in that black carriage the pane of glass making final chats impossible & tears? well they're for boys or for grown women & yet there they are - on your own face small & soft but still there for all of your bravado - it is a form of sickness after all whose remedy is the act - & later after several stops you look over at the boy who's now wearing headphones & he's not crying anymore - but you can see the sickness of home there still (in his pale stunned face


sarah said…
I know how the little boy feels. You can really write, you know?
xxx s
Anonymous said…
hi David,I emailed at your gmail as below. I am wondering if it delivered properly.****
***Hello David,
I am the artist introduced by Bridget at the gallery party on last Thursday.
How are you?
Regarding the trip(??) for the show of Asian Art Festival in Pocheon, outside Seoul. I am arranging sometime next week, I am wondering if you are still interested in.
I am still flexible though for the schedule, so you can add your convenience if you want, then we can adjust it.
OK, Talk more later.
Anonymous said…
My favourite poem of your adventure. Come home soon Davey.

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