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| Childhood |
| Gwyneth Box  |
| This poem first appeared in Candelabrum Vol XI Number 1, July 2002 |
| Whispering secrets into an empty cocoa tin, string, taut, measuring the distance between us; I was squaw to your brave, target for your cap-gunned cop and cowboy. We caught butterflies on the buddleia - peacocks, tortoiseshells, red admirals - and netted minnows (I caught mostly weed) down in the brown brook in the park. Jumpers for wicket, you taught me to hold the bat and strike out firm and strong. Staunchly, I held back the tears: the leather ball struck hard. Tins and pistols rusted into silence long ago; nets rotted, bamboo handles split. The butterflies have flown away; their colours paint my dreams. |
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