Dear Mother.

• K.t Hunter, Grade 10
• Poetry
• 2010

Like great gaping eyes the windows remain wide awake always gazing outwards, they let the sea salt wonder in to glisten on the spider webs adorning every dusty corner.
It's the strangest attention too detail.
So wild but so perfected by chance,
I enjoy June and worship the middle hours of morning when the sun is rising over the simmering cup of black pleasure.
I love it here I adore the tranquility.
I see now, clearly in fresh diamond air that you dug holes for everything
But it's not holes or cement that kept me locked in a devious dance with you, it was your indifference stone cold between your lily petal lips and that cutting razor sharp glare that glowered from the back of your perm.
Expecting perfection.
That wasn't coming.

The air is tainted with salt
Sea weed and various other wild things
But the sky stretches outwards the city does not threaten to tumble upon my head.
It smells like freedom, tasted on the tongue of a fresh stretching void of distance.