Blankets of Silence

She was young
young like a candle just struck,
as if lightning itself had lit her.
World never cupped its hands
to keep her from wind.
She flickered through streets
wandering storms,
and held a piece of sky
outside my school.
She waved at children
with a smile that drifted
like smoke.

In the moments she spoke,
I learnt her mind was a fragile room
with too many broken windows,
thoughts blowing hot and cold.
Coins confused her,
paper frightened her
she understood sandwiches and orange juice
sipping them slowly
as if each swallow
was a moment of safety.

I watched her belly rise again that year,
a quiet balloon swelling in a storm,
she never noticed
the monsoon waiting in the wings,
ready to break over her
for the fifth season.

I always heard a van in the distance,
slipping into the street.
gathering her colourless dawns
in blankets of silence.