Cartwheels
There’s a small girl doing cartwheels
across the frosty grass in the park.
Starting near the swings and the slide,
over and over and over, down to the
frozen duck pond.
Over she goes, hand over to foot over
to foot to other hand and back to first
hand again. And again. And again.
Over she goes.
You’d think her fingers would be cold.
You’d think her parents would be yelling
at her to put on gloves, a scarf, a hat.
Telling her off – there could be dog turds,
broken bottles, needles on the ground.
No sound here though.
Fog-deadened to mute.
Over she goes, a fraying ponytail,
a skitter of fleece and denim and scuffy
trainers. White puffs of giggle-breath
float up to the grey-glaring sky, baby fluffs
of happiness uncontained, wriggling away
on the winter-raw air. Dented crunches
of frozen grass show where she’s been.
Over and over and over.
Nothing else.
I could be this child …
I wish I was that nimble!
Your phrases paint a pleasant picture.
The child springs to my mind as your palette points the way.
Perfect!
Thanks Jim.
But where has she come from and where does she go…?
Which may be in a future poem…
Ahh… an opening scenario for a future scene script! .. dissolve to: The girl, as a teenager, doing whatever your mind sees her doing….
…to be continued — possibly.
Now, y’see, for me…. the narrative would go in a quite other direction… why is such a small child out alone and why is she not feeling the cold? Why does she appear out of nowhere? I’m waiting to see if anyone else who reads sees the way I’m thinking with this one, so I won’t give any more away just now…
Wonderful, Holly, your words are so vivid!
Thank you Lauren. x
Joy!
Hopefully yes!
OH! the capacity of youth, no feeling cold, no fear no feeling cold ( God no ) This is a happy poem it lifted my heart! xxx
Glad you enjoyed it Willow.