Serious Play

Vintage Words


I remember a song three six nine,

hand play to bananas and toes and EIO’s.

A song of eyes and a mouth red with

suckers or apple candy green. Faces

were always open to wonder letting

the eyes take it in honestly innocent,

pure as Africa.


I remember a tune chugged full of trains

heavy as the last snow on eyelashes blinking

a familiar melody at the ice skating rink.

Water running down the face was clean like

long unbroken flat ended chalk, fresh as

a new pair of paper scissors.


There was once a jingle set to the sound

of hooves on a green glass mountain

climbed using claws, a phoenix in the back

yard of an unfinished lyric, talk of cabbages

and holes so deep the bottom ended this side up.


There was never much hanging out in the array

of the day, only a memory of hopscotch in the

sunlight of do nothing hours, ropes jumped, or

a contentment of fields full of butterflies.






Author's Notes/Comments: 

from Womanchild Manchild

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