The hatter's table
Sat five of us down.
We were all sane and well.
That is,
As sane as the next person, at least.
I wore a crown
Of flower shaped roots
To keep my feet on the ground,
But the others
Wore feathers
And the wind blew them to the clouds.
Anna kicked and screamed,
Knocking over teacups
Filled with liquid smiles.
Knocked them over
With her feet.
Some shattered.
Those that chipped
Had the grass-like carpet break their fall.
Gregory was clawed by a crow,
And fell back down.
Landed somewhere near Ireland,
Somewhere near the sea.
Carrie could hardly stop laughing,
Could hardly see where she was going,
And got herself tangled in telephone wires.
Orion had his eyes
Firmly set on me
And I wished he didn't have to go.
But the wind blew,
And Orion flew
Higher,
Higher,
Higher.
So it was that I sat alone
At a table for five
Wishing I wore feathers too
To fly.
To feel
Alive.
YOU ARE READING
Cityscape
PoetryA collection of poems written in the city. Written for city folk who don't quite belong. And for everyone else who fall in between the cracks of 'here' and 'there.'
