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
and she becomes
a stigmatic; throwing arms wide
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.