TALL STOREYS Poem by Celia de Fréine

Angela is glad she remembered her flippers.
And her black catsuit comes in handy.
At first she is afraid to fly too close
to the moon in case she bleeds.
It's one thing flying in dreams.
In real life it takes a greater effort.

Ignore the weight of your body,
she tells herself. Arc your arms like
a hundred metre breaststroke champion.
This may be your only chance.
You don't want to grow up in a slum.
Twenty storeys high. No trees. No job.

Dawn breaks as she crosses the river.
She sees peach curtains billow
from a nearby penthouse.
Take a closer look, she urges.
Inside stacks of books. Oriental sculptures.
From the maple floor her shadow beckons.