The View From My Balcony

Behind the glass of the balcony door, I am baking

in the dense warmth of the day.

I sit in sunlight and dust with the flecks that shimmer

between seen and unseen.

Lit paths below disappear into shadowed alcoves and

birds hop from shade to shade beneath the greenery.

There are no clouds today but

unsurrendering blue.

I step out onto the little ledge, welcomed

by a thoughtless breeze.

The brassy light fades all plans like

a sentence I started but am unable to

remember- it was something important- something,

something- gone-

It’s dark now. The coolness retreats and cloying

humidity has come to rest on my skin.

Panic in a slow rise,

worry disturbed, an irritable sea

emerges in waves, four pronged thoughts and crumbling

stone skeleton demand stillness

dim and blurred awareness

bodies knocked down are sinking.

Shifting pain they wash up before me

the words gurgle and mangle in

my throat sinking like stones

I say their names, displaced.

Panic, dulling, pulls back. A dog

tired of chasing its own tail. Sweat clings to me

and my eyes are red sore, tired. I am still.

The sky is clear but quiet, unbragging, like it knows.

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About the author: Kiara Naidoo also writes book reviews, read them here

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