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Dada taught me cards.Sitting in his suit of pants and vest.A fistful of joker-red hair strewn across his brow.His big belly like a cannon ball.
Five children clasping mittenscould not hug the entire trunk.Whole hands could hide in the folds of its bark.James, the tallest boy in class,could sit on a root,
Dada has stories from Calcuttawrapped up in his big belly.When he belched they would unravel.
Billy chased me round the playgroundwith hands full of fists
Billy yelled at me across the football pitchwith a mouth full of stings.
The biggest berries are in the centreof a tunnel of thorny bushes.A shark gaping wide,promising not to nip.
I am the clash and collide of the starsbecause I create worlds.
I am the awareness of the treesbecause I hear the wind.
I told a whopper, a fib, a lie.Slipped out of my mouth. It was slimy, sly.
Standing by the river, my face grewinto a flat fish and floated offto a lily pad, and I was lonelywithout myself, without my twin.
Toothless, she kisseswith fleshy lipsrounded, like mouthof a bottle, all wet
She bruises your facealmost, with twoloving tree-root hands.
My love is like a well-read bookwhich makes me smile each time I look.It shouts and whispers, roars and singsit grounds me and it gives me wings.