“Once a runner, always a runner,” they said.
I remembered her first wobble;
reaching beyond sharp corners
to plush of a sofa seat
where I was waiting,
arms out and ready
to catch her.
I cannot grab her to me, now,
when streets have high walled alleys
I can not get over.
Promises, skittering about in dark places,
skritching and scratching out shadowy reasons
a garbage bin full of old bouquets is more home.
She cracked her head
one too many times, so she believes
her shadow does not follow her.
Darn, if she isn’t wobbling yet!
Author notes
Prompt is picture
In a list
A contest entry
- Up 4 a quickie ( abe 1 ) by Abe 1.
575 points, ended December 1, 2008, 10 entries
• next poem in this contest, remove from contest
Please tell me what you think
Comments
-
Wonderful
Very creative and so well done. Best of luck in the contest.
-
lik it ya shown ere with dis poem
out side of de box
gt luck 2 ya
cheers abe
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Sighhh...When they get tired of bangin' their heads against the walls, they know whose arms will catch 'em. Beautiful, my Friend. 
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Oh I like this one...
yes, we are born with our apparent nature
I believe that!
some of us always having to learn the hard way
that our shadows DO follow us
applause and good luck
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