Her fur coat was warm against the child's skin
It wasn't real fur, of course
but it was soft and it fooled
the child into thinking
she was safe and that winter
didn't live inside her
The bus depot reminded the child of cold steel
like the stacks of rusty silver from the yard they
had just left
Even the colours felt cold
like the orange bench that moaned under the fur coat
and the child's torn ski pants
The room was big and almost empty and
the child wondered why she
could still feel the wind
even though they were inside now
no longer walking
down the highway in February
She knew it was February because of the big red heart
that was taped to
the green chalkboard
Everyone's name was on it
like no one would have to
leave before the party
The child stared at the big clock in the bus depot
her cheek still against the fur coat
She couldn't read that strange thing
its pointy sticks twirling different ways
Mandy Jones said it was because she was stupid
that all seven-year-olds should know that already
The child's eyes were heavy and she
wanted to lie down on the bench
close her eyes against the fur
and sleep
but she was told no, stay awake!
it would be soon
There was a man looking at them
and the child felt the arm
stiffen under her cheek
and her eyes were not so heavy then
I'll be back, she was told in a tired whisper
and she watched the fur coat go
Later the bus rumbled beneath them
and this time, the child did close her eyes
against the fur
letting sleep take her away
her small body infused with memories
her mind would soon forget
© 2022 Shirley Hay