CREATIVE WRITING

I SLIP AWAY

Sophie Agbonkhese

I slip away, to seek stillness, reprieve.

I walk: first fast, then slow. Run from red emotions.

Running toward my thoughts, my centre: peace.

A waterfall of city noise deafens,

annoys. These other walkers, talking loud.

To one another? No—to their phones. Why?

I leave now as my mind nears its limits.

Why read another book or have more talks?

Befriend new people or consume more noise?

Helpful information—I’m sure—but I’ve

not had the time to explore the wisdom

already written in my mind and heart.

I long to reach into the recesses

of my inmost being, the ones I can’t

ever seem to find, though I still rummage.

Combing through fragments of my memories,

and dancing through figments of the future—

excavating treasures, untouched relics.

My thoughts now come in verse, poetic, clear.

I used to think in long unbroken streams.

These are short and stilted, not fully formed,

yet in their conception, they’re made complete.

They rush, a raging river, whipping past.

I carry no journal, not even a pen.

I grasp at them like strands of filaments,

a ropy lifeline, tossed by the Divine.

His promise: I see you, and I am here.

I catch these thoughts, imprint them on my soul.

They cocoon me and shield me from the noise.

They are a safe harbour amidst the storm.

It quiets down. I hear trees whispering,

if not to me, then surely to themselves.

The poplar leaves now rustle and shake.

From leaf to leaf, they pass their whispered news.

Solemn cedar boughs hang heavy, unmoved.

In nature’s calm embrace, I learn stillness.