Kat Soini – On Walking Home At Night

On Walking Home At Night

The station smells of
piss and iron like
all the others in the country
(except for the ones
that smell like disappointment).

It’s full moon.
All the sheep are drinking beer,
trying to forget
that they are sheep,
and the wolves are at the back,
inside cars, with stereos turned
to full blast, and
in doorways, flashing their wares.

Behind the fence
green shoots push
past yesterday’s paper
and discarded crisp packets.
It’s beautiful.

I pass a nursing home,
pharmacy where they sell
‘oh god please no, it can’t be’
life in reverse.

At the church yard,
vegetation is fighting back,
aggressively reclaiming ground,
shoving spring down my lungs
like earth into an open grave.

Under the street light
the tree blossoms glow neon orange.
I stand there for long minutes,
head tipped back, mouth
open, breathing, breathing,
while the ambulances go past and
a black cat crosses the road.

Friday night.
Almost home.

Kat Soini is a Finn living in the UK, trying to keep a foot in each country but often falling somewhere in between. An over-educated academic by day, she’s been writing fiction and poetry for a long time and is finally getting organised enough to actually put it out there for strangers to read. Recent publications can be found in poetandgeek.com, The Missing Slate and Glitterwolf. A geek at heart, she is fond of all things otherworldly as well as woolly socks, cats, tulips and cinnamon-hazelnut coffee. Kat blogs at https://katsoini.wordpress.com