Don't Let Me Explode
The first time she thought she heard a voice it was over breakfast. She could barely hear it over the singing of her cereal and outside a plane was flying low over her house. She held up the bowl to her ear like one does with a seashell and listened for the voice. She listened until her earlobe was soaked with milk. Nothing.
Don’t let me grow up
At the door she tied her shoes. Her backpack was filled with books, a sandwich, marbles, and sticks of varying lengths. The two loops on her shoes stuck out like a rabbit’s ears, the knot in the middle was tiny but tight. She opened the door. Outside it was windy. The voice spoke again.
Don’t let me blow away
At recess she played marbles. She lost her favourite one that looked like a ball of mint chocolate chip ice cream but then quickly won it back, along with another that looked like a tiger and a shiny steel one that she named ‘King Kong’. When recess was over the bell rang. The other children ran inside the school, screaming and letting their tongues wag in the wind. She stayed behind. She took her sticks from her backpack and buried them in the ground. The sun was high and hot and bright. She looked up and squinted. The voice again.
Don’t let me explode
