Elesing Papel*

 

 

Tack them onto a stick, 

Properly folded into four blades, 

Then run against the wind.

Run, run against the wind:

They whirl and spin 

Our imagination into high gear, 

We ran, we ran, our flip-flops 

Flapping, kicking dust, 

Our hair in the wind, and our 

Afternoon was endless.

Such is the stuff childhood

Is made of―paper propellers

That slip and spin us into the wind 

But we flew into the slipstream

Of our young minds―long before

We read about the Wright Brothers

And their clumsy machines,

No balloons or Icarus’ waxed 

Feathers for us either, we never 

Flew too near the sun―but we

Extended our arms and glided

Above grass and footpath,

Whee! And flipped into

The slipstream of our minds,

And spun our paper propellers, 

And we ran, ran against the wind! 

 

 

Marne Kilates

30 October 2021

 

*Paper properller, pinwheel

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