Less than three years old
Standing tip-toe-unsteady,
on the neighbours’ old arm-chair. Green, I think.
Fingertips outstretched to the mantelpiece,
to the biscuit tin that lay there.
It was red.
My name, in my mother’s voice, bodiless.
A cautionary tone.
Sounding in the air.
I can hear it.
Journeying through my mind
Exactly what it says on the tin!
Writing Lessons for High School English Teachers
A blog by Aarij Anwer
Original Poetry and Prose from the Heart
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https://randombytesfromlife.wordpress.com/2015/03/23/blog-tour-award-on-creative-process/
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