Jemma Leech

Arriving in a new place is better than departing the old

The day I was born was the day I died for the first time. With no breath inside

                        Or out, I flatlined my way into the world. Beneath the surface of warm familiarity

Lay cold, bare dread of eternal nothingness. By the time the flat life line warped

                        Into lively lumpy chaos, the bruise was spreading, the tissue corrupted,

The narrow pathways blocked like days-old milk-straws left in the sun.

                        By the time I learned to speak, I couldn’t learn to speak. And I learned to walk

From the comfort of my chair. There’s something to be said for it,

                        I suppose, no ankles sprained on the court or the piste,

No faux pas in polite company, no f-bombs to scare the horses.

                        No cleats or prom heels, no hikes in bear country or sheer-drop snowy peaks

No sneaking off at midnight to hang out, or shoot up, or send birds flying at cop cars.

                        No broken wrists or curfews or promises or heart,

Yet much warm praise simply for turning up. Being team mascot, below eye-level,

                        Not team member and in view, has its benefits too. It’s hard to disappoint someone

If they expect nothing of you. It’s hard to fail, if you make no attempt to win.

                        It’s hard to take on the world, if the world can’t see you,

Or chooses not to. But, you know, the sun still shines and the flowers

                        Still smell, and the rivers still tumble over rocks and sand. The red kites still spin

And the painted dogs still croon to the mosaic of the harvest moon.

                        The horizon lies flat and distant. I was there, once upon a time,

On the day I died for the first time.

                        But not today. Today, I’m still here.