Memories of Youth

Catherine Heath

September 2015

My inarticulate ramblings 

Of a Sunday morning:

I love the way your piercing eyes

Rove over youthful bodies. 

There was a kind of beauty

And a promise

Dripping over girls--

Delightful ecstasy. 

Heady days

Of catalysing dreams

Unfolding soft, slow and dark. 


Microscopic changes kindle,

Burn, and fade:

No one knows

You never were the same. 

Tortured difference;

A repugnant shade Of orange,

Standing burnt and crisp

Against their cooling gaze. 


“It’s just a phase,”

They say. 

One day, some day--

Frightened, pioneering,

Amazed--

You’ll forget what it was like

To feel afraid.

Credit: Photo by Nicolas Ukrman on Unsplash