My sister and I
pick out camelthorns
collect stones and winter grass
for the flower festival
we crouch
biting bottom lips
in fierce concentration
arranging dead dry twigs
into twists and turns
for the 'indigenous' category.
Now there is humour and irony and playfulness. I giggled and held my heart too.You do so much for the painting of girlhood - and for its loss.And magic - the "narrow fingers" in the ashes - very very real.
the more I write, the more I get these images. I remember the necklace in tray and the smell of all those rows of flowers at APPS. Miracle I never got hayfever ;)
Now there is humour and irony and playfulness. I giggled and held my heart too.You do so much for the painting of girlhood - and for its loss.And magic - the "narrow fingers" in the ashes - very very real.
ReplyDeletethe more I write, the more I get these images. I remember the necklace in tray and the smell of all those rows of flowers at APPS. Miracle I never got hayfever ;)
ReplyDelete