The Storm Nursery
S
Sheena Blackhall
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Two siblings, we enter the cable car
Not sitting close together
The car is a blown egg shell
Rising up from the car park
A thin screech
The great Alp yawns below
We are wingless birds
In a troubled glass pod,
A frail and tilting cradle
We hang from a slim thread
Ignoring the warning
‘Do not rock the car’
My brother does so
This is the storm nursery
For the heirs of Icarus
Bu şiiri puanla
Henüz puan verilmemiş