Paper Planes

Wed, 12/05/2018 - 13:47 -- ngopes

a piece of thread hung from the tail

her smile concealed under the folds of her face

without any signs of ending

hanging from a vine

feild of wheat

slipped out of his coat

She felt the sting of the aeroplane

 

You stood  further, near the fig tree

it is seven steps as I turned and walked from you

 in the backyard,  dimples

appear on your cheek, excited & waiting for the surprise.

I asked you to close your eyes, and

sailed the plane towards you,

made of a printer paper, its wings of Crayola blue.

I wasn't sure where the plane was going to fall,

dipping down and thudding into the ground.

 

You opened the eyes as it landed on a wall of stones.

You jumped up high in excitement but 

 slipped and fell flat on your face.

You crumpled the plane

and struggled to remake it.

I wondered how

quickly can something like this find a place in

the heart of my little daughter of three.

 

 

 

 

 

Comments

ngopes

My daughter sits besides me

as I refold.. paper planes

I made paper planes

refold many times

I gave it wings

of Crayola blue

con trail of memories

for my daughter of 3

he eyes affixed

 

 

I've made a paper airplane
With wings of Crayola blue
I made it just for her
To fly away with you.

Where will my paper plane fall?

dipping down and thudding into the ground

t just flew up and straight back down to the ground

 

You kept all your old shoes,
an unbroken footprint into the past:
the pumps left at high tide
that filled with sea water;
the single stiletto left behind,
when you flung the other down
an Italian hillside; even the wellingtons
in which you planted tulips
every year of primary school,
you washed and preserved
at the bottom of your wardrobe.

You were the one who spared
the flip flops worn to a wafer
that carried you across France;
the thick lipped sandals you kicked
against the school desk, and even
less forgivably, the six pairs
of verruca socks hung up like
chickens with your husband’s ties.
Nowadays, after work, you prefer
the barefoot life; of wood under foot
and the sands of summers to come.

 

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