across the continents

there is a me that
runs through childhood
fields of memory
spanning continents
wrapped up in
waving swirls of
drying grass, baking
in the summer sun.

there is a me that
walks along the
rain-drenched streets
of a city old with
time and oddly cornered
curbs and benches
dotted with graffiti in
a language unexpectedly
become my own.

there is a me that
sits on the dock to
hear the gently lapping
slaps of waves against
the hulls of boats lined
up like a flock of
cranes roosting for the
night on concrete poles -
branches reaching
to the winter sky.

there is a me that
wanders under the
white embrace of
cherry-blossom petals
falling pale, pink,
spring snow onto the
hair and shoulders of
young couples strolling,
whispering secrets while
the old look on -
their dreams hidden
like mine.

© eleanor clark
16 June, 2015

Plastic Hope

Tonight I remembered
the life-like newborn
doll I played with
years ago, now
wrapped up in
swaddling tissue
paper in a cardboard
box lined with memory.
She wore clothes
that matched the
outfit my baby
brother wore - a
hand me down so
I could copy Mom,
folding nappies and
cradling this plastic
infant. Tonight I
wept at childish
dreams that ache
and burn in the
corners of the soul.
The children of the
barren wife might
be more numerous
for their future-promised
sons and daughters
still to bear, but --
for tonight the dreams
and hopes are as
lifeless as that doll.

© Eleanor Clark
21 May, 2015