I’ve had a go at Prose Poetry. I’m not at all sure I’ve done it right, but here goes.
Laughing, stumbling, she heads for us like old friends, she is sure of her welcome. We have never seen her before. We smile, uncertain but taking joy from the light in her eyes as she giggles and trips among us, stands and beams at her three new brothers, three new mothers. Her certainty of her acceptance makes it hard to do anything else. Though we know we cannot, that she’s wanted, beloved by others, we would let her stay if we could, so infectious is her joy. She reaches up as if to impart cuddles to us all. Reaches up to the boys with their bobbing balloons. And then it is clear. It was always the balloons she wanted. We feel, somehow, hurt. A woman, her mother, pelts after her, smiles apologies and scoops up her tremble-lipped daughter to strap her down into a pushchair and leave us bereft. One of the boys chases after them, asking politely, is granted permission to present her with his balloon. Tear filled eyes brighten, and her sunshine smile lights us all up again. We feel honoured and blessed as she rides off in state, leaving us one balloon down but happier.
Tom Juniper Poetry 