30 years ago, I bought them jellies,
two each to be fair, red and green, chilled and conical.
Same taste, but they preferred the red,
a ruby that held the light before it slid down their throats, slippery sweet.
They stood poised over the bin, she with a foot on the pedal, body curved towards the jelly,
he falling back, eyes wide in his full moon face.
She went for the red first,
peeling off the top and tilting her head back all at once, a dance with light.
I could almost hear it slide down her gullet.
He started with the green first, keeping the best for last. His five-year-old fingers fumbled, his red slid straight into the bin.
They were always like that, she rushing for the best first, he toddling behind, careful.
She now pours her love on us first too, uncaring if there will be any left for later, while he waits, guarding jealously his hoard of loving words, sometimes letting them go to waste.
-‐------
Many thanks to Xiang Yeow for ghe helpful critical eye!
prompt. write a prose poem, recollecting a childhood incident and fictionalising it.
No comments:
Post a Comment