“Why must I put you with nature ?
You are the daughter
Still wet with childbirth
Like the dawn whose soul was lowered
To earth
To kick and cry
To fill tender lungs with corn and rain
Snow, mountains and forests
Why did I choose you?
A card in a pack?
You are always alone
Even with me you would be alone
Saved only by a suitcases full of
Angels and a ticket to paradise
I picked a rose the other day
But it flew away and settled in a tall tree
I wonder if it was a rose
Or perhaps it was a bird
A bird with wings as soft as silk
A head of knotted petals
As if in a dream we are left guessing
Why can’t you be a dancer
And with a trailing skirt brush
Brush away my tears
Your dusty hem would drag a tear
Across my cheek and wreak it
In the corner of my eye
Spin and swirl in the palm of my hand
Making tiny holes with your ivory
Shoes
Hopping from finger to finger
Finally you curl up and sleep in the palm
Of my hand
And a dusk is spread like a crimson
Blanket across the land.”
.
Malcolm Paul
Picture Nick Victor
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