Sunday, May 19, 2013

They Will Take My Island

by Nyla Matuk

Probably it was the last day of school.
A group of young girls, 9 or 10 years old,
walked toward me. They were all wearing
party dresses. The first of them started to run,

and then the others started to run behind her,
in their dresses, all yelling, "Don't run! Don't run!”
laughing and looking like they were having
the time of their lives. I noticed one girl

near the back of the group, laughing and yelling
with them, a bit taller, darker.
She had the innocence and the happiness
I remembered having too, at that age,

yelling with friends, in a kind of chaos,
being overjoyed, not aware of being overjoyed or
swept up by something for no other reason
than itself. Later that night, I brought the girl’s

image into my mind--the way she laughed,
as she ran, so preoccupied. In the morning, that image
was the first thing that I saw when I woke. Most of all,
the girl had shown me what had come to me once

and is now gone. I want to remember
her face every day, for the rest of my life.

after Annie Freud