[Kaimee]: 5.Mixed Poetry&Prose.Erasth

An odd piece, inspired by the words "Or was it Earth?"

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I once heard of a place called Erasth, I saw it written in the school book of a child I taught, and I thought it sounded beautiful.
And then the boys and the girls on Erasth went in to the sky wich was lit blue and they took sum trees and sum soop and wen they cam out agin they was at a osther sun and ten they was here and they had erku like my erku Kitty.

It reminded me of another word, from when I was a child and they would say I still had erth eyes. Like most children, it took me until I was about ten before I could tell the colours purple, lishur and blue from each other. It was difficult until the lens plants in our eyes adjusted, and until then everything looked too lishur.
Some children now were born with the lenses already working. Evolution, they told us, when those lucky few skipped ahead in primer.

Many years ago when I was tiny, my moosher used to tell me stories about trees that were hard, and brown, and the leaves were made of green. Leevs? I remember asking, Like the birdies? I don’t remember what she said they were, but I remember the laugh that answered my question, every time I see the tiny plasheet-thin green flitters float by on the wind, chirruping the change from lish to light – bedtime back then.
It’s the clearest memory I have of my moosh, who had to be reduced for her various body plants when I was still small. I didn’t have my moosh for as long as most children. Plants are always hard to come by, and there were more children born that rotation than normal.

I remember once, my old teech from primer, he used to tell me about getting up when it became light, and going to bed in the Dark. Dark, he told me, like when you hide your eyes under a blanket and no lish creeps in. But, I thought, why would you stay awake during the light, when your eyes would hurt and only the erku prowled about? And a funny thing happened, like before a child’s erth eyes are gone. Little dribbles came out of his eyes and his wrinkly face scrinched up and a sound almost like laughing groaned out of him, along with song words I don’t think I remember right, Twinkle twinkle little star, how I wonder where you are…

And once in my seccie school when we were learning about the solar system, and I asked why we didn’t try to go to other stars, my teech - an old old woman then, although still tall and straight – went and stood by the dark green glass windows and never replied.

I once heard of a place called Erasth, but when I asked the child what it was, and how she knew, she couldn’t tell me. By then I was old myself, hardly worth the soop it took to feed my plants, and soon to be reduced myself. Soon there would be no one left who would ask. Soon no one would remember the stories about the skies of Erasth.

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Piece © Kate-Aimee Conrick. All rights reserved!