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Poetry
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| The Hammock | |
| By Crayfish | ||||||
| 15 May 2006 | ||||||
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Childhood. Colourful macramé like a gypsy’s shawl sways soothingly, soft against my face and arms. Huge boughs in aching curves cross far above where fairies play- Giant green umbrellas. I am a queen carried off to a fantasyland in my rainbow chariot, Irving Berlin and Gershwin serenading me from a ballroom inside my castle. While the "grown-ups" sip lemonade by the drawbridge, Wild, leafy ferns fan my regal locks. A sprinkler, explodes into beads of ice, hailing down on a towel of grass, My brother, a prince, plays in the dirt- a noble leader saving his ants from death A sky- blue, blazing- a dome of magnificence, bearing a mosaic of clouds Stretches above me. If I could just touch it, sway a little higher . . . Twist Fall Ouch.
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