At the public tap
The mother does not see
The moons floating in the pots
Full and waiting to be fetched home
The child thinks they have fallen in
And whispers conspiratorially
She will rescue them
When no one is looking.
To grow up
Is not to see the moon in the pot
When you heft it to your hip
Monday, May 5, 2008
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)