The ballet girls flap their wings
of hands. I wonder why I
can't fly. Their pink leotards
blossom like flowers, carefree hearts.
Upturned lips drink the rainbow air.
Slender arms dip low to a crescendo.
The pivot comes naturally:
Suddenly they're pink tops
spinning spinning spinning
away from a calling
mother. Impy feet slow from the
blaze. The girls are unfazed:
the loss of freedom, a temporal
halt. Onward, the underpass rolls
and my troubles are the two girls
catching butterflies in unison.
No comments:
Post a Comment