Escapism
Out
of cardboard boxes, we would construct
a rocket
ship, painted midnight blue and pressed
with
potato-print crescents. An unsteady window
cut
into one panel, so we could see the stars.
We
carried it out into the garden, placed it in a clearing,
on
the crazy paving, and wedged ourselves inside.
I
counted down the seconds to liftoff, while she
created
an echo and covered her ears.
I
image that cardboard rocket ship, still sturdy with brown tape;
but
it looks smaller now – as if it only has space for one.
2 comments:
I like the clarity of your recollection, Lara, but would suggest the close might benefit as follows
"...as if there's only space for one..."
because saying it aloud continues the lilt of the line?
Lovely poem!
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