Thursday, 19 March 2009

Delicate edges

Sometimes when I look at you, I wish that I could fold you neatly to fit inside my pocket.
I would take great care in placing you on my palm, then folding you towards me, careful not to fray your delicate edges, careful not to leave you vulnerable to the outside. I would fold you no more than three times; any more and you would be too small, any less and you wouldn’t fit.
Once I have you my perfect size I would place you with care inside my pinafore pocket - tight into the corner so that you felt snug and safe. I would worry at the thought of you falling around loosely in my pocket and the possibility of you becoming unfolded, so I tuck you deep into the edges.
From the depths of my pinafore pocket I would tell you about the day; how the first signs of spring have enlightened the garden with bright forsythias sprayed like Senorita’s fan and crocus’ shining like bulbs through a lush carpet of green, and how the day ends with candy pink and powder blue skies.
I would protect you from the outside, from the big bad world that prejudges you for being with me and from the opinions that differ to yours.
Some may say that I am smothering you, that my pocket offers no reality and that you will never be yourself. All that I know, is that I would be looking after you, just like I always promised.

2 comments:

Katherine said...

I like this.

Jo said...

Thanks Katherine ; )