Child

NEW

When she was a child, she loved the

Rain-stained car windows

And watching the drops race each other down:

A race complete with

Illegal tackles and

Intersecting pathways and

Those that give in before reaching the finish line,

Choosing to hang puzzlingly

Halfway down the window.

 

And Sunday mornings still remind her

Of how her mother used to paint her nails in the car—

At every red light—

With the

Rose-petal pink nail polish that she always wore:

To swift strokes on every fingernail and then

Perfection,

The last final touch complete.

 

Even though she is not a child now,

She still dreams of

The boy they call Peter Pan,

And she

            Still slurps her spaghetti.

 

Reviews

[~crazy Beautiful~]

This was nice to read, it brought me back right in the first stanza. I pictured myself in the backseat of my parents car. I remember feeling like the moon followed me, the calmness of the rain on the windows. Beautiful piece.
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[Legion]

used to pain her nails - paint?

It is very hard to give up childhood once you realize what you have given up. As a child you can't wait to grow up. As an aldut, you can't understand why you ever wanted to be one in the first place. Good piece.

[Edward Clay]

rain stained! almost like an April shower leaving it's mark on the dawn of May. and I've never looked at rain on a windscreen that way before - stream running, intersections - criss cross, multi-layered ... you created choas on that screen with a sense of calm.

nonchallant ending as well - dropped in amongst the nostaligia.