dandelion fuzz
spikes past
a hummingbird’s
slapshot blurred wings
from a girl’s pricked
balloon checks—
eyes shut,
she blows a
hurricane wind
for another
birthday cake wish
while not wanting
to lift her shuttering
eyelashes to see
if her latex-covered
mouth could muster
the strength for a
seeded hope to
become a
blooming flower.
This is the real stuff that poetry is made of-one thing leads to another. See my poem 'The Kings of Heidelberg.'
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
This is so well written that there is not one obscure line. We picture it, we feel it, we respond. What poet could ask for more? Raynette