Snapshot II

There's a little girl in the back of a car. Her forehead is pressed
against the window and when she comes away from it, I can see the lines
from her face marked on the glass. She is too young for these lines of
worry and fear. I remember when my forehead was smooth. The reflection
of serenity. Except for the scar, with its ridges and lines that I hid
behind strands of hair.

There's a man in a taxi. Alone. He's headed towards the Airport Road.
One suitcase strapped to a carrier on the roof of the car. He looks so
small in the backseat - smaller than that little girl.

And while I'm scribbling all this down - I keep worrying about the
things I might have missed in this city of ghosts, as I stare at the
page. I keep worrying that I won't be able to read my own handwriting
in an hour or two and wonder what thoughts I've forgotten. Like the
dreams I can never remember.

When I look up - we've reached the Baron Palace. They say it's haunted.
It looks like the kind of place where a ghost could melt through walls.
The statues in the garden stand watch. Limestone carvings of human
emotion. Arms reaching out. Eyes cast down. They've turned away from a
home that has become an empty shell.

And I'm just 10 minutes away from my home now. But home is really south
of the equator - ten thousand kilometres away.

Cause I don't belong here.