by Isabella Dunsby
you walk at an angle but you won’t let me
pull the left backpack strap
onto your shoulder, you let it hang.
you move swiftly along the pavement, every few steps
tilting your head
to see if I’m still beside you. I am,
still searching for something to say,
but there’s too much noise what with
the whiff of traffic cacophony we pass and your
unsettling attempts at breath. i can see the sunset
that’s behind the seoul city skyline
turn red and orange as if preparing for winter. i consider saying
this to you but can’t find a moment in
between your muted sobs. and so we walk,
to nowhere in particular, and for what reason I
don’t know either, except that
you went from hysteria two blocks ago to this
and that’s enough
to keep us going.
© Isabella Dunsby
Isabella Dunsby is an enthusiastic student attending an international school in Seoul, South Korea, where she is nurturing her newfound passion for literature. She has a profound love for poetry, jazz music, and taking long walks with her loyal companion, Lily. Her recent foray into the literary world has ignited a spark within her, and she is excited to see where her newfound passion will lead her in the future.
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