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.
