#49

It was time to adapt / the ceiling peeling salted grains

making fists against / great walls / of all that is pretend. 

The house of Wendy / the room of the absurd / peeking out 

behind the falling lights

an understudy in fluorescent mask

glow in the dark, and fly by night / born to climb

the curtain rail / sweep proscenium.

The back seats fill / The extra spike 

in wooden floors / nails her

centre stage

and she becomes

a stigmatic; throwing arms wide 

to balance

but her ears believe / they’re on the sea. 

Her fingers stretch; the ceiling falls.

[tag word: DANCE - Sarah McCadden @smctweet]

 Poem Challenge: writing 100 poems in a weekend to raise money for EEC International.