People talk about outside like it’s a place that everyone can go
For me, it was where the sound thinned out,
where the shouting still existed, muffled through walls,
drowned by the off-key manic cheer
of the ice-cream van’s tune.
We played in the road.
Cars cut through the game
and we folded around them,
learned the timing,
learned when to scatter
and when to return.
These rules weren’t spoken,
you felt them in your body, your legs.
I didn’t know outside could mean gardens,
or distance,
or leaving the street behind entirely.
No one explained that versions to us.
We played long enough
to forget what had sent us out there,
that the air didn’t change its weight for anyone,
and the pavement didn’t ask you questions.
If you could walk, you could keep going.
Space belonged to whoever stood in it.
Header Image by Rhina Aguilar on Unsplash