At our last sleepover
it is hailing, a great excuse for
instant ramen. My friend yells from the kitchen,
asking how much spice I want.
None, I say.
She shouts back weak.
I surprise her with a back hug
which she leans into
after reaching around with her hand to smack me.
Then we want
with the only three spoons we can find,
we pass around a tub of ice cream
and I am crying
because I am leaving
for my promised-land, but
without my friends, I am a more scared adventurer;
I shine less brightly and feel the cold more often and I already miss
looking forward to shelter on return.
It’s okay, they say, and I tire anyway
so we fit into a pile
on the bedroom floor.
Sleepy, we play truth-or-dare which is fun
even when we know most of the answers to the truths.
Epsom Girls’ Grammar School