Sharing with The Sunday Muse #227.
I was sick that week,
muffled and sore-throated.
We tore those pages
out of Mom's British magazines
in a frenzy of making up
a game of fairy chess:
tile floors full of supermodels,
expensive dogs, perfume bottles,
gardens, and real royalty.
No jumping, no war.
Just tense tea times,
lost gardens and wise dogs
leading to the Ball.
Would you find your way
with a tux-suited man
or a tartan-collared dog?
I don't remember the rules,
the music, the endless tissues...
just Mom handing over the scissors
and watching me carve pictures
into fairytale games.
-- Chrissa
Precious poetry, Chrissa. My sisters and I played paper dolls endlessly, no British mags to clip. Your imagination knows no bounds .. Fairy chess indeed. A fairy tale.
ReplyDeleteSuch a wonderful memory Chrissa! So beautiful it is now a lovely and magical poem. My mother used to make handkerchief dolls. She would draw on the face with pen.
ReplyDeleteLittle kids loved to make things, then imagine what they are. Or vise versa.
ReplyDeleteI learned that we should never ask what or who it is, that may give the signal
that everything needs to be ordered and names.
Wonderful memory Chrissa. We need those so much
ReplyDeleteHappy you dropped by my blog today
Much💛love
Very creative childhood games....they are invaluable !
ReplyDeleteA lovely memory and a beautifully oblique way øf referring to the prompt/s.
ReplyDeleteFun game. I'm still doing it with my collage.
ReplyDeleteOh I love this...fairytale chess. Your poem is delightfully visual.
ReplyDelete