172: This City is a Tundra

This city is a tundra,

a mountain range,

of jagged peaks and outcrops

and miles and miles of hard-packed soil

forgotten under tarmac.

Here is no space for moss to grow,

nothing ever stands still,

except for mould in forgotten lunch boxes

at the bottoms of children's backpacks.

We move, move like herds

whipped into motion

by managers, teachers, friends, and family,

and we find no time, no flimsy moss,

to graze on when wintery days grow cold.

Our insides shrink

into lumps of hunger

and in the 5 am dark-before-dawn

wolves howl in the car parks

outside family homes, waiting, wailing,

for the morning rush to begin

to whip their herds into motion

and have their daily revenue

of thousands and millions

of weary souls hauled out of bed,

too exhausted to notice

the patch of moss behind their headboards.

---

Written by: Katrine Hjulstad

Instagram: @katrinehjulstad

---

Publisher's note: Please note that all poetry published with Eudaemonia Records has been seen by our editors, and that the editors have suggested revisions where they see fit, but we believe that it is ultimately the writer's decision to accept or reject any suggestions and take no responsibility for which suggestions they accept or reject.