Late 80s, mid-afternoon in June

By Cassandra Moss

White shirts and grey trousers and

grey skirts and white blouses

except for you

in navy blue with your knees out,

showing off scabs just about

ripe for picking and scooping.

The heat is everywhere.

All the pale bodies swarm.

You are on the ground

tasting the iron in your blood

because you mistimed your jump.

The boys think of you as one of them, 

which is just as well since you haven’t

the modesty to be deferent.

It’s a curious thing that we can recall

having felt pain but block

its exact feeling from reappearing.

Like I know north-west England is famed for its rain 

yet every school day seems the same –

sunny,

very slowly cooling.


Cassandra Moss was born in Manchester, England. She moved to London to study and subsequently worked in the film and ELT industries. She now lives and writes by the Irish Sea. Her writing has appeared in numerous journals, including 3 am Magazine, Squawk Back, Posit, Sunspot Lit, KAIROS, The Bangalore Review, The Closed Eye Open, and is forthcoming in Drunk Monkeys.

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