Footsteps always echo loudest on a stage, facing a full and quiet crowd. Harrison always said eat a banana, run up the stairs; one to calm, one to rile the heart. The anxious organ can't seem to tell between a workout and the icy choir of each step, smooth neck of the cello in my hand. What they don't tell you is the lights are blinding: a bright curtain, deep and wide as the sky. My god, birds don't fly. They drown again and again until all they know is the floundering act, all they feel is the fullness beneath them.
the story so far
poetry by daniel hurst
the story so far 