You collapsed at my feet
And tumbling from your fingers
came a sponge, dried up and begging.
Dirt clung to it’s fibers
A gash from side to side
And a boot mark, bold and black.
I picked it up and brushed it off,
Heavy in my small hands.
I took it to the sun
And watched it cower in the warmth.
I injected it with water,
Nutrients and love.
When the sponge was plump and juicy,
The colour of cherry jam
And smelling sweet like honeycomb,
I placed it in your hands.
You whispered
‘If time were rhyme
And distance, wine
Then fill my page
And drain my cup.’
It was cold up where you held me,
But from my vantage point I saw
Your brush find it’s way
In the middle of the day
To the canvas in the sun.
And I asked you not to paint.
Your ugly lines appeared,
Vertical and stark.
I yelled down to the dark
For God’s sake don’t paint for me.
You took the sponge that I had saved
And sank your teeth into it’s flesh,
Sucked it's insides with glee
And sweet crumbs of honeycomb
Were spat across the floor.
Then suddenly your thick lips said
T’was all a game inside my head.
And from the altitude you chose
I tumbled down and down.
And baby hit the ground
Cradle, sponge and all.