Maylee Bossy

(17/02/95)

The Bodies of Our Old Selves


My hair
Changed with the passing seasons
Like autumn leaves
You liked it best in the summer

When the bodies of our old selves hung
From ropes in the treetops
Mine swaddled in black

I was a raven in a fishing net
And it was only the beginning

A Finnish boy by the burning wood
Had sung about love
But I know nothing of it
Only of a spreading flame
Sparking before a chapel

I wish for us to lose ourselves
Again in the countryside
And find ourselves in the rain

With shoes tied to the bottom
Of every hill we climbed
And fingers stretched
Towards the heavens
That were in your grasp

Like when I danced
As if
Without music
And you with song in heart

Teach me how to hear
The beating drums
Beneath your chest

Submitted: Monday, May 20, 2013
Edited: Tuesday, September 10, 2013
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Poet's Notes about The Poem

This poem covers three distinct memories with the exchange students of my district. The first is of our orientation weekend during my first month in France when we did a ropes course in a forest, and had a bonfire in front of our youth hostel, which was on church grounds. The second was a scavenger hunt of sorts, spoiled by pouring rain and the fact that most of us got lost. The third was our final night all together, where we danced and talked until morning.

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