Some mornings

How come some mornings break your heart?

A pink sky, perfect crystal spider webs, the cold crispness.

Remembering how fallen leaves felt under

my school shoes. 

Autumn has always made me feel this way -

over thoughtful. 

My driving instructor makes me go past my

old secondary school; 

I joke the route is triggering for me. 

But I remember pulling on a pale blue shirt,

ironed by my mum and warmed from the rad, 

looking out of my window on mornings like this, 

watching the spectacular show and not 

quite knowing how to process it. 

I knew there was something in me with

something to say,

but it was like I couldn’t reach it.

Now I’m older. 

I welcome these mornings to charge me:

top up my energy levels, 

no chance of running out when I’ve been witness to

the kind of sky that makes me want to write.

I see girls in my old uniform walk to school,

and I think god poor them, 

you couldn’t pay me to go back. 

They have it all ahead of them.

Does it still smell the same? I wonder.

Are any teachers from back then still there?

I drive past the buildings that are barely recognisable any more,

on a bright autumn morning full of promise,

just like those girls -

I hope they are okay.