Segments

I remember how we used to count paving stones
between home and school. Straps of backpacks
leaving marks on bare legs.

Your arm through mine, an anchor.

I remember how every day was an adventure. 
We, the heroes, sharing segments of tangerine  
and secrets in a made-up language. 

Later, at the big school where we didn’t want to go
you taught her the secret language I invented for us.
I waved, but you didn’t seem to notice me.

That playground, an island.

I remember how I walked home alone, counting nothing.
My backpack behind me like a sad dog.
The weight of an uneaten tangerine in my pocket.

(c) Leen Raats

This poem was published in DarkWinter Literary Magazine from Canada, in November 2025.