Poem
Michelle Cahill
CHILDHOOD
CHILDHOOD
CHILDHOOD
The afternoon cruises,after badminton, lemonade
and chutney sandwiches.
Voices are like ribbon made
for unwrapping the past.
Syllables of imaginary laughter
blend with the real, as I recall
the warmth of uncles, aunts, cousins
left behind in foreign cities,
Mumbai, London, Goa.
I think of the bright day when dad
flew our kite on Primrose Hill.
It’s hard to say what matters.
Everything fragments,
defers to time’s calibrations,
the long shadows are deceptive.
I piggy-back my daughter
in summer’s leaf-light.
We swim laps in tandem
riding a pink foam noodle, sinking fast,
her tiny arms a choker for my neck.
I’m weak to her commands, her tears.
In any competition, I must lose.
The dragonfly’s flight is a tease
never kissing its reflection,
a cross-stitch lacing the pool.
The distant hum of the freeway
sounds like a hole in the heart,
the softest turbulence.
The garden is a green humidicrib.
© 2010, Michelle Cahill
From: Vishvarūpa
Publisher: 5IP, Melbourne
From: Vishvarūpa
Publisher: 5IP, Melbourne
Poems
Poems of Michelle Cahill
Close
CHILDHOOD
The afternoon cruises,after badminton, lemonade
and chutney sandwiches.
Voices are like ribbon made
for unwrapping the past.
Syllables of imaginary laughter
blend with the real, as I recall
the warmth of uncles, aunts, cousins
left behind in foreign cities,
Mumbai, London, Goa.
I think of the bright day when dad
flew our kite on Primrose Hill.
It’s hard to say what matters.
Everything fragments,
defers to time’s calibrations,
the long shadows are deceptive.
I piggy-back my daughter
in summer’s leaf-light.
We swim laps in tandem
riding a pink foam noodle, sinking fast,
her tiny arms a choker for my neck.
I’m weak to her commands, her tears.
In any competition, I must lose.
The dragonfly’s flight is a tease
never kissing its reflection,
a cross-stitch lacing the pool.
The distant hum of the freeway
sounds like a hole in the heart,
the softest turbulence.
The garden is a green humidicrib.
From: Vishvarūpa
CHILDHOOD
Sponsors
Partners
LantarenVenster – Verhalenhuis Belvédère