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I have been here once before – It was a long time ago, I don't remember when.But as my father handed me the axe-headImages exploded in my brain.
That fire, they said, was red as red as redas red as a fox, your lips, a cherry;that fire, they said spread and spread and spread,faster than a cheetah or a nasty rumour;
I am the word juggler.I juggle the wordslike swords.I slice sensewith poetic license.
Tippi can't stand clowns.Dragon is terrified of cockroachesand Mom of mice.Dad pretends to be fearless,though I've seen him flinch when the mail arrivesseen him hide
The building is white,ivy eating its way up the broken walls,windows smalland scratched.
She is not here.Not beside me in bednor in the roomat all.
It has happened
We're floating into the blue,Me and my blue balloon.Over the rooftops of the town,The brown fields and the treesAnd the Downs – we're floating,
Miss Flotsam was my reception teacher.She had travelled the world.Brown hair turned goldenunder distant suns,clothes carrying coloursfrom countless corners of continents.
Itty-bitty. Bat. Tittle-tattle. TatShilly-shally. Shout. Dilly-dally. OutWilly-nilly. Woo. Silly Billy. Boo!Roly-poly. Rip. Pitter-patter. Pip
This is my story.It is mine alone because I am the one who needsto tell it.I am the one who is still here,no longer stage right but