Jump Rope

Prose poem

Three black capped chickadees, monks with black cowls and white scapulars, hold tight on the laundry line, and swing back and forth in the breeze. The whites are on the line, sheets snap, curtains flutter, a towel drips. A jump rope twirls around and around, slapping on the sidewalk, as the girls jump in and out, pigtails bouncing, singing Old Lady Mack, Mack, Mack, all dressed in Black, Black, Black. The breeze picks up and black clouds move in, pregnant with rain. The girls scream, and run inside, leaving their jump rope abandoned, a childhood memory. It starts to pour, and the clothesline goes slack, the curtains rush back to their window, the towel goes back to laying crumpled on the bathroom floor, the sheets are thrown back on the daybed. The chickadee monks on the clothesline sway back and forth, back and forth, oblivious to it all.

Reviews

[Neville]

......................... I can smell the green bar of Fairy and still marvel at the bubbles blown between the large O created between my grandfathers index finger and his thumb .. bless you Norma :)

[NormaZ]

Yes, I loved those bubbles, still do! Thanks for reading my poem and the review.

[Chris Shaw]

So many memories here of wash day when I was a child. The whites blowing on the line, the clouds rolling in. Mum rescuing the washing before the rain sets in. Thank you for gifting me with the memory of my beautiful mother this morning. So much wonderful imagery in your writing. Thank you Norma.

Chris

[NormaZ]

Thank you Chris!

[Einstein Noodle]

sparks so many memories .. love the clothes line and chickadees .. a simple life force that rolls underneath it all .. love it! sure enjoyed your imaging .. and monks .. pretty brilliant stuff says i!
E.

[NormaZ]

Thanks! I’m glad you enjoyed it, and taking the time to review it.

[Akinlolu]

A vivid description of a typical tropical rain or if you will, a storm that heralds the rain. Reminds me of being a kid and running crazy in the rain with the downpour pelting me like showers of stones. I never minded. Ah, those were the days. Nowadays, I try to drive the children inside while warning them not to catch a cold. But they aren't afraid of catching a cold. They just want to catch their fun. You write beautifully N.
Akinlolu

[NormaZ]

What you remembered as a child reminded me of hot summer days in the rain laying down on the warm pavement, and the smell of that. I had forgotten about that!

[Akinlolu]

That in itself is another kind of poetry, I guess. Let's hold those memories dear and never forget. Thank you for painting those beautiful memories

[jacob erin-cilberto]

I remember clotheslines....my mom hanging up the wash and then suddenly the rain....
rushing inside. These days I love rain....I like to stand in it and feel like I am getting baptized all over again.
I like the nostalgia here.
j.

[NormaZ]

Thanks for reading my poem!

[Carlos Lorenzo Estrada]

This is a wonderful piece of writing. You capture such a subtle moment in time that defines childhood. Continued success in your writing journey. CLE

[NormaZ]

Thank you for your kind words!