A Close Call

• Leah Richardson, Grade 12
• Poetry
• 2016

The curtains embracing me,
Like a tender mothers hug.
Flying around like the wind,
Woken up from its sleep.
Cool air as cold as ice,
Breathing into my back.
I have to stay still,
To imagine I am just a figuration.
A segment of their imagination.
I am as obvious as,
a lone sheep in a field.
My life flashes in front of my eyes,
All the good times, and the bad.
We were going to be rounded up,
Put into a pen,
Like all the others.
Then they went away.