Earth
Break time in school;
wet mud, dry sand, scraped knees.
Your first music festival;
wet grass, dry wine, the shade of trees.
Your father’s funeral;
wet eyes, dry flowers, your grandmother’s wheeze.

Fire
Roadside maize;
red chilli powder, black charcoal, stuck in your teeth.
Your fifth date;
red lips, black tie, you can barely breathe.
Your team loses;
red t-shirts, black paint, let’s grill the meat.

Water
Birthday parties;
filling your ears, emptying your plate, splashing, and laughing.
Your last exam;
filling the blanks, emptying your bag, going home and napping.
Your mother’s accident;
filling the forms, emptying the fridge, in the waiting room, asking.

Air
Chemistry;
Giving out worksheets, taking the best spot, your eyes full of wonder.
Your wedding day;
Giving a promise, taking a vow, the feeling in your stomach like thunder.
Your 76th birthday;
Giving your granddaughter a present, taking a scribbled card, a déjà vu of when you were younger.