Driving home from the airport I notice
my old school flatten down in the city centre.
No traffic. People indoors, folding hours
in cupboards, in boxes without keys.
A land of graves reflected upside down
in each blind spot. Letters pinned
to a blazer, white socks mother mended
at night, trace the playground where
children abandoned a beachball.
The wideness of urban carparks
risen from ashes, dust borealis
glows above the steering wheel.
© Maria Stadnicka, July 2020