16 March 2013
A poem written through the eyes of a six year old child.
I am six and the floor is made of lava Only the bed can withstand the heat And the couch cushions, if we need them And maybe me, if I wear my boots. Princess comes close and disappears in puff of smoke She smells like burnt hair and fingernails Just like momma when the Sunday candle jumped. I need to jump soon, or maybe get some help But dad's at work and not so great at lava jumping Mom's busy, cooking cereal for dinner. Pour some water on it, make it rock Even I know it's just toasty stones I could probably make some in the oven. I could jump and risk it I'm sure it's cooled by now Daddy says it's not even real.
Nope He was wrong Now I smell like fingernails and hair Maybe I should take a bath?
Six Years Old • Opuss № I