The following piece is published as part of our TLM Young Writers series, a dedicated section of The London Magazine‘s website which showcases the work of exceptional young talent aged between 13-21, from the UK and beyond.
What were you wearing never graced
the conversations, the newspapers skipped
the sly insinuations of blame.
As helicopter lights slashed
the green expanse of the crime scene
a murder was declared.
What must it have been like?
Mustard lights cradle
a well-trodden road. Evening chill
is killed by layers, and my green parka.
Brand new. Still unmuddied.
Though probably not after
Josh’s hiking trip next week.
A copse in the distance
sways in tandem
to my heartbeat, mind
ambling slowly through today
I hate the middle of the week.
It’s like this never ending road
I walk down, as a car throws his
bifurcated light, devil horns,
down the street.
The windows I pass are
headstones on my periphery.
When an engine dies nearby,
in the black shop window,
my face is pale as a ghost.
Fiat light, from no direction, glances
over the remains. As the city darkens,
trains flowing underground, homes
sanctified with familiar rituals,
they were tracing clues for the missing thing.
Yana Imykshenova is 18 years old and is taking a gap year. She is originally from Buryatia in eastern Russia.
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